#world's hardest working brain cell

[januaryembrs]

THERE'S NO SIGN OF LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [3]

Description: The one where you grieve Emily together (+ the one where you kiss him)

word count: 7.9k

trigger warnings: okay so this chapter is exactly how it sounds, heavy in themes of grief, depression, anger, slight ideation of the world being better without bugsy (as if), DRUG USE (once and not addictively and not by Spencer!), mention of Spencer being horny, mention on blood and drinking.

authors note: this was just supposed to be a little filler chapter for the next one where the real juicy shit happens and long story short it became nearly 8k words of pure angst until the last minute when I decided to stop hurting you all. please don't hate me, promise a big boy chapter is coming up.

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'Doctor, look into my eyes.

I've been breathing air, but there's no sign of life.'

The team had fallen into chaos since Emily died. Hotch thought that just five little stages of grief weren’t quite enough to summarise what they were going through.

Morgan was pissed off by the smallest things, had flipped shit just that morning because the printer had jammed. He'd gone through two mugs and a keyboard in just two weeks in his tempers that had certainly seen better days.

Penelope’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears she was trying her hardest to choke down, to wipe away so fast she could pretend to still see her computer screen, but Hotch didn’t need to be a profiler to see the way her sleeves were smudged with mascara, sodden through 24/7. 

Rossi seemed resigned, tired, his breath smelled faintly of the strong whiskey he saved for special occasions, his hair unkempt, as though he hadn’t slept until the early hours, or if he had it had been unrestful. He took more frequent breaks, came back smelling like the cigars he kept in his desk drawer for the bad days, and he sighed as if the world beat down on his back, like he’d been asked to choose between stopping world hunger or saving the environment. His chest was heavy. His face was tired of losing so many friends he loved.  

Spencer was working himself to the bone, his desk piled with books (even more so than usual), his fingers twitching by his side more often, as if his brain cells had been dialled up to a thousand percent, which was saying something when it came to Reid. In fact the only thing out of ordinary was the fact he was constantly checking his phone, the sight of which had Pen dropping her coffee on the rough carpet, which she had promptly then excused herself with watery eyes over. Yes, he actually knew how to use technology, which he had been so vehemently against for years, until the team realised it was because one very important member of the team had been using her sick days for three weeks now. 

They knew he was looking after her, that he would bring her dinner and make sure the cats were fed, but they had no idea she had all but moved in with him, Niko and Sergio included. 

Yet he found himself checking the screen every twenty minutes or so for signs of an update, even just a thumbs up or a little sign that said seen under his good morning texts. He was scared he’d wandered too far into boyfriend territory, it certainly felt that way when he would come home to see her bundled on the couch, nose deep in one of the books he would leave out for her, how her eyes would light up just the tiniest amount to see him home. She rarely cooked, he knew she didn’t even touch the food in his fridge no matter how much he reminded her she needed to eat when he wasn’t there, to which she usually just nodded at him and buried her head in his arm to escape the scoldings. 

Things were different with her here. He knew she was vulnerable, lost, he saw it every time she came crawling into his bed from where he’d set her up in the spare room, or when Sergio made himself home on her lap and she squeezed the cat to her chest in quiet tears. Usually he would have squirmed out of her grip, he had always preferred Emily, but these days he just let her sob with a docile blink at where Spencer watched her from the other end of the couch, and pretended not to notice when his fur was sodden and messed up. 

Spencer had felt something for her before, the weeks, months even leading up to Emily dying, but with her here, needing him all the time, holding him tightly when he needed to grieve himself, making herself at home in his personal space, he was sure she knew it too. There was no way she didn’t know how he felt. 

But the topic was too heavy, too complex to bring up with her mourning her sister, it would rip the carpet out from beneath her feet, and no matter how heavily, besottedly, how deeply Spencer felt he loved her, he would never do that to her. He couldn’t. 

He had always loved mind games, but loving someone so much you couldn’t not tell them, only to not tell them because you loved them so much felt like a whole paradox even he couldn’t wrap his big brain around. 

So they stayed where they were. She had good days, though they usually looked like said reading on the sofa with nothing but a strong cup of coffee in her stomach. And then she had bad ones. And the bad ones made him scared, so scared he had no choice but to get help. 

Penelope came over the Friday evening with Spencer after work, kitted out entirely with nail polishes and gems, the box set of Barbie movies, a hot chocolate mix she swore by, three tubs of ice cream, face masks, Teen vogue with a Never have I ever section ‘Begging to be answered’ and of course, her Pièce de résistance, her makeup kit and joke fluffy handcuffs for them to tie down Reid and give him a makeover. 

“Hello my handsome gentlemen,” She greeted Niko and Sergio who rushed to the door on instinct, knowing Spencer always gave them each a big handful of treats upon arriving home, “Auntie Penny is here for a super girly evening, no boys allowed,” 

“Am I not invited?” Spencer asked, faux hurt flashing on his face as he shut the door behind them, though his eyes were quick to scan around his living room for any sign of her. There wasn’t, not even a single pillow was out of place, and he knew it had been another day of skipped lunch and breakfast.

“You are, of course you are, I just didn’t want them to get jealous,” She whispered, her brown eyes taking in the too perfect apartment and the lack of the Prentiss girl, “Is she sleeping?”

“No,” He said without checking, because he knew she rarely slept nowadays unless she was in his bed with him, “I’ll go get her,” 

“Okay,” Some of the joy died out of her tone when she heard his voice soften sadly as she set her bags down on the kitchen counter, “I’ll get the hot chocolates ready!” Penelope tried to recover in that perky tone she used to cover up when something hurt her. 

He just hoped this had been the right decision, that he wasn’t pushing her too hard. 

Knocking softly on her door, he let himself in when he heard a small murmur on the other side, and as he suspected, she was curled into a small ball under one of his blankets, her hair wet, her pyjamas in the laundry basket. She had one of his shirts on and some boxers he had noticed had gone missing, but he would never hold it against her. 

She had showered while he was gone at least, and her breath was minty fresh as he crept over the woolly rug and kneeled one leg on the bedside. 

“Hey,” He started softly, sweeter than honey, his cadence somewhat hopeful as he leaned over her and stroked her hair that was still damp. “You got up! Did you eat anything?” 

She looked up at him with tired eyes, but she reached out with both her arms to embrace him gently, like she’d been waiting all day to have him near again. 

“I had a couple biscuits and some coffee,” Her voice was raspy, and it was the first he’d heard her speak in a few days. “I’ll try better tomorrow, I just was a bit tired today-”

“No, no, that’s great,” He rushed to comfort her, to stop the apology that was coming his way whenever she didn’t take care of herself the way he wanted her to, “Penny’s here to see you. She’s here for a girl’s night, if that’s okay?”

Bugsy attempted a smile, though she seemed hesitant, but he thought that was probably just the way her expression was these days, like everything hopeful had been sucked out of her. 

“I’ve missed Penny,” She said, and he knew she meant it. She nodded finally, and he leaned over her to give her a proper hug for putting on a brave face, feeling her nuzzle into his chest at the contact. She sniffed the air for a second, before whispering into his ear, “Is that chocolate?”

He chuckled, stroking down her back and pulling her up into a sit. He’d gotten used to her being pliant under his touch, and he only wished her being so receptive to his advances would be under other circumstances. 

The urge to grab her face and kiss every bit of hurt out of her was growing harder and harder to shove down with every day he saw her so soft and wounded. He wasn’t good at knowing what to say, but for her, he was trying to be. The only alternative was kissing her silly, until the pit she’d crawled into was warm, just warm all over, and she came back to him in one piece. 

“Yes, it’s chocolate. Now come on, before she starts the movie without us,” He breathed gently, helping her out of bed, pretending he didn’t hear the way her joints cracked with the first sign of movement in hours. “Wait a second, pants,” He reminded her, tossing her some sweatpants from the floor, which she shoved on blindly. He didn’t mind her walking around like that if it meant she were comfortable, but he didn’t want her to give Pen a scare. 

A ghost of a smile teased on her lips as he led her out the room with two hands on her shoulders, seeing the blonde woman light up like the fourth of July at the sound of the two of them approaching. 

“Bug!” Penelope called, mid way through distributing a hefty amount of whipped cream and marshmallows on top of three mugs. Spencer watched the second her eyes widened slightly as she took in the girl’s appearance, trying frantically to cover it with an even wider smile, rushing to hug her tightly. He saw the minute she realised she felt so different in her arms; lifeless, heavy, rooted to the spot, like any contact with someone other than the gentle Spencer-touches she was used to made her lock up. 

She looked sick, like she hadn’t known fresh air in weeks, or like she’d pulled three all nighters in a row, or like she would be able to watch a ten car pile up and not bat an eye. She looked dead. She felt dead in Penny’s arms. 

The thought of it made her squeeze her tighter, until she felt two arms cuddle her back firmly. 

“I see Spencer has been treating you well,” Pen said, because she was avoiding the subject of Emily, and the way Bugsy looked exhausted, and the way she saw how scared Spencer was when he’d come into ‘the bat cave’ that afternoon to ask for her help. 

Bugsy attempted another smile, nodding slightly as the blonde drew back from their hug, and she saw the worry she tried so desperately to hide as she took in her face. 

The girl’s skin was dull in a way they’d never seen her before, her expression tired, her bones creaky, like someone had reached down her gullet and plucked her soul right from out of her chest, snatched it there and then. Penelope saw why Spencer looked so worried. 

“He’s been great,” Bugsy replied simply, her eyes finding Spencer’s where he shadowed behind her, worried she would faint on the spot from all the movement. She’d not been eating anything other than what he encouraged down her throat, but he supposed a handful of biscuits were better than nothing. 

She felt the bottomless pit that used to be her heart rip open just that bit further, the way it had done slowly the past few days, eating away at her skin. She knew she could never ever repay Spencer for everything he was doing, knew the odd few times she’d managed to collect herself enough to be there for him when he cried could never amount to how he hovered over her every second he was home. 

But where she should have felt guilt, there was nothing, there was just nothing left of her. 

He seemed to notice the slip, the way he always did, and she never did tell him how perceptive he was as he stroked over the back of her hair, leading her with a warm hand on her upper back to the sofa where Pen had already laid out the movie selection, had already grabbed the hot chocolates that were quickly melting onto the coffee table, where Niko was waiting with an eager pink tongue to collect his share, where he settled her down and wrapped her in a blanket as if he was swaddling a baby, where he let her take the middle and him and Pen on either side as Fairytopia lit up his living room with hot pinks and rainbows and flowers and magic. 

And even though she had yet to crack a smile, a real one at least, she seemed content, not entirely uncomfortable with the evening as Penelope commandeered one of her hands to paint her nails a shiny blush colour  ‘to match the evening’. Spencer thought for a minute she might have just needed some girl time, something no matter how many cuddles and sweet words he whispered could never give her. Maybe that was all she’d needed. 

Maybe she would get through this without entirely crumbling.

It wasn’t until the next day when even showering was too big a feat for her, when she had only two mouthfuls of the blueberry pancakes he’d made her before she apologised with watery eyes that he realised how stupid he was for believing it. 

It wasn’t until she said she wanted to move back home by herself that he really started panicking. 

JJ took her out for a picnic in the park the following weekend. The guilt was eating her up alive about hiding Emily’s secret, and from what Pen had told her, she wasn’t doing good. She wasn’t even doing bad; she was barely hanging on by a thread. Hotch had said she would be a flight risk with her sister gone, had said they would need to keep an eye on her as much as they would the rest of the team, but for Emily’s safety she couldn’t tell her the truth. JJ could only stand back and watch as the girl they all knew crawled into something dark inside herself and barricaded the door closed. 

Spencer had taken the nice approach with her, never forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to or asking too directly, as had Penelope. They’d both tried letting her open up by herself, which had only resulted in the girl taking about five steps back and even starting to shut out Reid, something which they all saw tore him up even more than seeing her wasting away in his spare room. He spent more days at hers, crying harder than she had seen him even when he was struggling with opioids. Crying for Emily some of the time, but mostly crying for the fact he was entirely helpless now she had moved out, like the one thing that had held him upright until then had left in a guilty mess of ‘sorry’s and dead eyes.

So she instead took the approach of telling Bugsy she needed help. Because if there was one thing that had always been able to bend her will, it was someone else needing her. 

JJ thought about reminding Spencer that Bug would come back if he took the same route, if he just told her how badly he needed her instead of her feeling like she was simply a burden on his life. But she knew he wouldn’t hear it, he would only blame himself more. 

So she’d told Bug she was struggling with looking after Henry alone while Will was working away, that he’d been asking for her since she’d come to his second birthday party with the biggest stuffed whale toy he’d ever seen. It was a white lie, Will was home more days than she was, but Henry had been asking for ‘the bug lady’ every time he played with his teddy. And it worked like a charm. 

So they sat in the warm April breeze, Bugsy reading on her stomach as JJ carefully nudged a punnet of fat, red grapes her way, hoping she would take the hint and swallow a few. 

It wasn’t until Henry came diving over to them from where he was collecting snails by their shells that Bug even showed any sign of pulling herself out of the book. 

“Buggy!” The little boy called, his tongue struggling with the complexity of the ‘gsy’ sound, and she looked up at him with a tired smile on her face that JJ saw right through immediately. “Buggy, look,” 

She held out her hand, and he gently placed a common land snail in the palm of her hand, no bigger than a quarter, who happily slid over her fingertip with a squishy sensation. 

“Thankyou, Henry,” She replied, her eyes trailing over the shiny slime he left behind over her palm, his tiny antenna eyes googling up at her. “What should we call him?” 

“Sid’d’snail,” Henry replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world, crouching next to her to watch him crawling over her chipped pink fingernails.

“Hi Sid,” She chimed, and JJ watched her face drop into a completely emotionless expression the second Henry’s back was turned to find Sid a friend. 

She felt it clawing at her throat to come out, Emily’s alive, Emily’s alive, come back to us please, please come back to us because Emily’s still alive. JJ was watching her rot in front of her very eyes, and better yet she had the power to stop it with those very few words. 

She could put an end to all of this, she knew how badly it had hurt when Ros died, her older sister, her whole world ripped from her the way Emily’s ‘death’ was doing to Bugsy. She would have given anything for someone to have turned to her and said ‘Jennifer, your sister is still alive. Jennifer, it was all a trick, a hoax, a ploy to keep you safe. Jennifer, Ros is still here, alive and breathing and living her best life in Paris of all places.’

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t betray Emily like that, and knowing, no matter how much of a relief it would come, would put Bugsy in more danger with Ian Doyle and whatever other enemies her sister had made at interpol than she could have ever realised. 

So instead, JJ just ran a gentle hand over her hair that warmed in the sun, and started braiding parts of it absent-mindedly, like they were two girls in a playground waiting for hometime.

JJ stayed quiet, and watched Bugsy get worse. 

Aaron came over to her apartment at 8am sharp. He’d found JJ and Penny in floods of tears in the women’s bathroom when they were due to start the presentation of the latest case and they were nowhere to be seen. Spencer had become detached, quieter with every day that he checked his phone and saw no reply, but had mentioned he’d seen them go into the bathroom together as he got his morning coffee, only for their boss to see the two of them clinging to one another with wet cheeks and before he could even ask, Penelope splurged that Bugsy hadn’t messaged in four days and was refusing to open the door, and that even Spencer asking so sweetly, something that was usually her kryptonite, had failed to draw her out. 

Aaron was convinced if this didn’t work he was kicking down the door himself, even if it meant filing paperwork for a necessary home visit. 

Aaron Hotchner, surprising to no one, was soft on the youngest Prentiss girl. He’d watched her grow for four years straight, had come to her of all people in his hour of desperate need, and felt every second of her grief as if it was his own because he, like JJ, knew he had the power to stop it all but couldn’t. 

He called her name through the door first, her real name, loud yet anxious, along with a firm knock. When he heard nothing back, he rapped on the wood louder, “Bugsy, I know you’re in there. The team are worried about you, they’re worried you’re hurt,” 

Nothing. 

And it wasn’t just the team that was worried, it was him too, if his heavy fists banging even harder were anything to go off of. 

“Bugsy, if you don’t answer I’m sending for the SWAT team and asking them to ram this door down,” He said, with not a trace of a lie in his tone. Because he wasn’t lying, not by a long shot. 

He heard footsteps then, and she appeared through a small crack in the doorway, not open enough for him to see the mess in her living room, but enough to see the way her entire face looked like a cadaver. 

He fought back against the guilt choking him from the inside out.  

“Stop yelling,” She murmured, almost bitterly, “You’re scaring the cats,” 

“You’re scaring us,” He countered back, in a tone that was a little too mean, but from what he heard, soft and gentle wasn’t working, “Please, just let us help you, stop pushing everyone away,”

“That’s a little pot calling the kettle black there, Hotch,” She said in an equally harsh tone, her face scrunching into a frown, and she nearly slammed the door on him right there and then. 

“Get your work out clothes on, we’re going for a run,” He ordered, and it was only then she notices his sport shorts and trainers. She scoffed in his face. He was quick to shove a foot in the door before she actually could swing it shut on him, ignoring the way he nearly yelped as it trapped between the wood, “I’m not asking,” 

“Fuck off,” She spat, and he bristled at her choice language, but he saw the way her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She was a roadkill on a sidewalk waiting to be put out of her misery; she didn’t want to be prodded and poked at and ordered around, she wanted out. 

She wanted to go quietly, without a fight. And it was for that reason, he put up more of a struggle. 

“You are coming outside with me, even if I have to drag you down the street myself because this is not how it ends for you.” Aaron barked back, forcing the door open with one of his large hands as if it was nothing.

“Of all people, I would have thought you would understand, Aaron,” It was like she had slapped him in the face, though he thinks maybe that would have hurt less, and it was only then he saw her eyes had welled up, and her bottom lip was quivering. It was a horrible sight, it twisted his guts like he’d been stabbed by Foyet all over again, but it was better than the nothingness that was there before. 

“Ofcourse, I understand,” His voice softened, his hands coming up to gently rest on her shoulder like she was breakable china beneath his palm, “You think I don’t know what it’s like to want to hide away and never face a world without Haley ever again? I can’t, even now, imagine the rest of my life with her gone,” His throat clogged with emotion he fought off, because he refused to have both of them crying in her living room when he was meant to be the one pulling her out of it, “But I do it because Jack needs me-”

“No body needs me,” She said emptily, ignoring the way Sergio wrapped his tail around her leg and meowed loudly as if to tell her otherwise. 

“Yes we do,” Hotch insisted, seriously, damn near ready to shake her on the spot to knock some sense into her, “We need you, and better yet we love you. You may have lost your sister, but you still have a family waiting for you, Bugsy,” 

And that was it, the single crack that broke the dam. Before he knew it she had launched herself into his arms in a fit of tears, clinging to him tighter than he thought she could for someone who looked so weak and perished. 

He just held her close, feeling his own stray tears drip down his nose as his shirt got wet through. In another life, maybe he and Haley would have had a daughter, and maybe she would have reminded him of Bugsy, maybe his heart would soften to putty just the same way it did with her. The same way it did for Jack. 

And eventually, when she dried her face, and quietened Sergio down, she went to put on her gym gear and one of Spencer's hoodies she’d stolen and felt too guilty to give back, and they went for a run.

If there was one thing Rossi knew better than his whiskeys, it was how to cook a good carbonara. And if there was one thing Bugsy needed more than anything at the moment it was a buttload of carbs and cheese. 

Aaron had been taking her running every morning since that day, and even she had to admit the fresh air and exercise did her good, made her feel stronger and less like the women they find in body bags at the beginning of a case, made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she could get through the rest of this. 

It wasn’t going away overnight, not by any means, but she looked healthier, and her exhaustion meant she got more sleep too, but what remained was a hunger that she was filling with cereal and instant noodles that Rossi knew he had to put a stop to immediately. Instant noodles should have been outlawed with crack and underaged drinking, he would proudly tell her. 

So he invited her over for a cooking lesson, or as he would put it, she could watch him cook and eat as much as she wanted at the end, if she promised to never buy those awful microwave ramen ever again. And she’d agreed, because she felt her appetite coming back every day (and she knew where he kept the good white wine).

“Now as entertaining as this is watching you drain my stash of Sémillon, why don’t you chop up that pork and I’ll get started on the sauce.” He handed her a sharpened butcher’s knife, and the thin slices of seasoned ham, turning to use the stove for just a few moments, “You’re gonna add the cream in until it becomes thick, like cough mixture running off your spoon,” 

“Thick and creamy, you got it,” She chimed in, her fingers slicing the meat into strips, “Did you want this as diced or Julian?”

“Do you mean julienne?” 

“That’s what I just said,” He chuckled into the pot, his chest warming to hear some of that old bratty teenaged sass returning to her tone. He bet she would have run rings around him if she was his kid. 

“Diced, if you would,” David said, using a wooden spoon to stir in the thick cream little by little until the container ran empty. 

“Yes, Chef,” She hummed in response, flipping the chopping board around to begin slicing them the other side, “So, I’m guessing if I asked to try some of that Sauvignon I saw in the fridge, your response would be- oh motherfucker-”

David frowned, “Maybe not so harsh on the tongue but-” He turned around when he heard a hiss, and he quickly understood why she’d thrown the expletive out there. 

Her hand ran red with thick blood, dripping quickly down her arm, ruining her shirt. He didnt even care that his hand carved indian wood chopping board was permanently stained, or that the meat was contaminated, or that the blood trickled a little too quick over his floor, only that her eyes seemed suddenly far away as she did nothing to stop the cut gaping. It had caught her in a trance, one she was not even aware she had been sucked into until he grabbed a towel and headed for her. 

“Emily, no! Emily please, I need medical in here, we have an agent down! Emily, please, please don’t, please- Someone get medical, she’s bleeding-”

David’s hands grabbed a hold of her bloodied palm, wrapping it tightly in the cloth, so harshly it knocked her out of the daze she was in, dragged her out from the last time there was blood all over her hand, when it had been Emily’s blood, when she could do nothing but freeze like she had now. 

“I’m fine,” She said on a reflex, even though he hadn’t asked, he had just acted, pulling her towards the cupboard where he kept the first aid kit, “David, I’m totally fine, it’s just a little scratch,”

“You have to let me go,” Emily had gasped. "Let me go, Bug,"

“David, I’m fine, stop worrying,” She said again when she saw him fussing, hoping he couldn't see the way she’d started shaking, and if he had, she wondered if she could play it off as the adrenaline rushing to fix the wound. 

She knew she was on thin ice with the lot of them after her talk with Aaron. Like he said, they were her family, and family’s took care of one another. She couldn’t live with herself if she kept burdening them so much, kept them from grieving their partner just as much as she was; she loved them too. 

Bugsy was trying to get better, she really was. Sometimes it was just a little difficult, like now when she could still see Emily’s butchered body infront of her as if she were little more than that joint of pork she’d been julienning. 

“It’s okay to get hurt sometimes, kid. You don’t have to lie and pretend it doesn’t hurt if it does,” David said, sitting her back on the breakfast table, holding the bloodied cloth up where he was unravelling a spool of bandage and some rubbing alcohol. 

She shut up then, and she wondered if she was really that see through or if David was just that good at his job. They stayed silent, except for the moan of pain she let out when he doused her hand in the solution, pulling the skin closed tightly and wrapping it taut enough for her to feel her heartbeat in her fingertips. 

“It’s okay if you need a little help once in a while,” He continued, his movements gentle and careful, worried he’d spook her with the first real conversation they’d had in a long time. Rossi had always been closer to Emily than he had her, and maybe it was the fact he lost the few chances he had to be a father, or just the fact she reminded him so much of her older sister, but being with her felt like part of the wound in his chest was the one being treated. “Rather than being afraid to ask for help, remember this: When you ask someone to help you, you are actually doing them a tremendous favour by giving them an opportunity to feel needed.” 

“Is that a David Rossi original, or did you get that from one of your self help books?” She sniffed, hoping he didn’t see the way her expression had fallen, or her throat caught with an apology, or how she hid it with a small smile. 

“Richard Carlson.” He replied, pinning the end of the bandage in tight enough it wouldn’t snag. He sighed, looking at the girl who started guiltily at her fingers, reaching behind her for the corkscrew, “I’ll go get the Sauvignon, you order us a pizza. Just please god, no pineapple, that’s just as bad as instant noodles in my books. That’s like asking Da Vinci about bitcoin, it’s madness,” 

And that was the first time she properly laughed in weeks. 

While Derek was more than equipped to schmoozing the ladies when he wanted a date with them, he had not been ready for this when he’d asked Bugsy to go to the club with him.

She had been doing better, Rossi had said. She had seemed stronger, that was what Hotch had told him. Spencer said they’d even gone for coffee together. He left out the part where it felt awkward and almost like they were seeing an ex, though that of course would be impossible, because they were never dating. At least as far as he knew anyway. 

It had been going fine, they’d gotten two rounds of drinks, had been chatting and she’d even been giggling the more the alcohol hit her. She was looking more like she used to, and it almost all felt like a horrible dream hearing from the rest of the team the state she was in. 

He’d turned his back for a second, for two damn seconds, and she’d been whisked away by some frat boy, and come back to him with a crazy happy look in her eye that he didn’t notice until an hour later. 

“Where did you go, kid?” He’d asked, and she’d shrugged like it was nothing. 

“Needed the bathroom,” She said, and he hadn’t even noticed it was a lie until the light struck her eye for more than a couple seconds and he saw just how dilated her pupils were, like the blackness swallowed her iris whole, and the way she buzzed on the spot with more energy than she’d had in months. 

She was supposed to be getting better, and she was trying, really she was. 

But she couldn’t stop seeing the blood on her hand, couldn’t stop seeing Emily’s face now she could actually sleep again. 

Spencer was half way through his fourth re-read of War and Peace, in its original Russian translation, when he got the knock on the door. 

It was 10pm, he muttered to himself, who was bothering him at this time. 

But of course, as luck would have it, it was the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about, the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about for the past three years. 

“Spencerrrrrrr!” She chirped, and immediately alarm bells were ringing in his head, her fingers linked with Morgan’s as if he’d all but pulled her to his apartment from the cab. 

She wasn’t stumbling, and she smelled a little like alcohol, but not so much that her inhibitions would be completely destroyed, so he knew it wasn’t that. And Derek looked guilty, a serious kind of guilty like he’d suggested they take a drive on a motorbike with no helmet, or go chasing unsubs unarmed. 

It wasn’t until she flung her arms over his shoulders, and he’d pulled her inside, Morgan following behind with a nervous clear of his throat that he realised what it was. 

“Spencerrrr, I missed you! I missed you so much, Spencer!” And usually he’d love the way she said his name, but this time it was tainted, too false, too electrified. It barely even sounded like her, he hated the way his heart still pounded out of his chest at the fact she pressed herself so close in that little clubbing top of hers, those tight jeans. 

“What did she take?” He ignored her little hums of a song he couldn’t hear, the way she pushed herself even further into his body in a way he knew too well felt like a warm hug throughout her entire being. “Morgan!” 

Spencer had never snapped at him, not since his own days on whatever it was he was doing, and Morgan ran a hand over his face as she nuzzled her nose into his neck. 

“I don’t know, I swear. I turned my back for two seconds to get us another drink, and next thing I know this senior is hitting on her and she’s shoving gum in her mouth and coming back towards the bar- I don’t know what it was, I swear I thought it was gum, man,” Derek rushed, hating the look of desperation in Spencer’s eyes as he yanked her away from him with a small mewl of protest from her mouth. 

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, look at me,” He murmured, and she did, and he saw almost immediately the way her pupils were the size of saucers when she stared at him, crazed and intoxicated, “Do you remember what you took? I need to know so I can keep you safe,”

“You always keep me safe, so safe with Spencer,” She giggled to herself, trying to pull him back to her, but he wouldn’t budge, not until he got a real answer, “Come on, I’m going to be fine, it was just a little Molly, nothing to worry about. Kid even gave me a half for like ten dollars because he said I was reeeeeal pretty. Do you think I’m pretty Spence? I think you’re pretty, I think you’re super pretty,”

They felt themselves sigh in relief, because while still a drug, half of one pill shouldn’t really do much, especially if it was the cheap stuff going around frat houses that the DEA was having a field day with. 

Morgan looked at Spencer, where he let her shove her face against him once more, wrapping his arms around her back and feeling her sigh in relief that she was back there under his warm touch, and they shared the same thought. 

This never happened. 

Because if it did, it meant opening a can of worms Spencer had tried for years to shut tight. It meant acknowledging that the reason Morgan came to him and no one else was because he knew Spencer would know how to handle her when she was coming down in an hour or so. It meant acknowledging why Spencer would know that, and why they hadn’t acknowledged it the first time around. It meant their jobs would be on the line, and so was hers, and as much as she was struggling at the moment, they knew she just slipped up, and that this wasn’t who she was. They knew she could be better, that Spencer would force her to get better, because if the only other option was having her turn into who he used to be, then he was handing in his notice first thing Monday morning. 

That wasn’t an option in Spencer’s books, nor was it in Morgan’s. 

So Morgan left with a little pat on the back of her head, claiming she was a little troublemaker, though he hadn’t quite sounded as teasing as he’d intended and more bitter, and leaving Spencer with her to minimise the damage. 

Bugsy let him lead her to the spare room that once was hers, but she didn’t quite care enough to say anything other than, “I missed you so much,” As she pushed her face into his neck more. 

He sighed, sitting her down on the bed, knowing where she’d left some of her makeup wipes in his bathroom. 

“Stay right here, I’ll be right back,” But she whined again, making a grab for his hand, which he quickly avoided, feeling mean for it the moment he saw her face scrunch in hurt. He stroked her hair behind her ear, watching her melt under his touch, and it almost felt like nothing had changed, like she had never moved out, and like she hadn’t just burst back into his life after popping a bit of molly and turning his evening upside down, “I missed you so much, too, Bug,”

And he wasn’t lying. Not even a little bit. 

She looked up at him with those dazed pupils, as big as dimes as they batted up at him dreamily, and some awful part of him always wanted her to be looking at him like that, like everything he ever did in his life was perfect and he was a god among men. Like she was seeing her favourite movie for the first time on the big screen, when in reality he was just wiping her makeup off her face and handing her spare clothes to change into so she could sleep off the come down. 

It wasn’t until he tried to leave again to go get her some water that she put up a real fight, one that couldn’t be fought off with a gentle touch (he tried), and she was quick to grab his wrist, tug him closer to her. 

“Bug, I’m getting you-”

“Come lay down with me, let’s talk. I love talking to you, why haven’t we talked in so long?” She said like every barrier she ever put up had come tumbling down and her mouth was a free for all for her every thought. 

Spencer smiled despite himself, his honeycomb eyes soft as he shuffled to lay beside her, and they stared at one another, heads against the same pillow, and she looked soft than an angel laying on his bed waiting for a response. She looked happy for the first time in a long time, and he hated how much it suited her. 

“You moved out, remember, bug? You said you wanted to go home and I didn’t want to stop you,” He said gently, like he didn’t want to upset her. But she just giggled and shook her head like he’d told her a joke. 

“Oh, yeah. But I didn’t really want to go home. I wanted to be with you. I want to be with you forever,” Bugsy giggled to herself, wiggling her toes inside her socks and running a finger up his arm gently as she lay on her side, “I missed you so much,”

His brow furrowed, “What do you mean you didn’t want to go home?” But she wasn’t listening, she was tracing over his face with her fingertip, running over his nose gently, past his full lips that quivered under her touch, “Bug,” 

“Hm?” 

“What do you mean you didn’t want to go home? Why did you leave?” He asked again, and she looked back up at him with a shrug, shuffling closer to him, so close he could feel her breath fan over his cheeks. 

“I thought here with you was my home. I wanted it to be.” She said, her fingers finding their way into his nightshirt, “But I felt too guilty being so sad all the time, like I was getting my sad all over you and you couldn’t do anything about it because I was the loser girl with the dead sister you had to look after,” 

His eyes burned with emotion, and he willed himself not to cry, because suddenly it made sense why she had pulled away so fast. She looked at him like he’d hung the damn cosmos in the sky; had he not even paid attention to the letter she’d written Emily. She felt like she was dragging him down, the way she felt about everyone in her life, and decided to cut herself free before she took him with her. And look where that had landed her. 

He felt like a fool. 

“No, no,” Spencer whispered, pulling her into his arms, because he was scared that come morning she would take a million steps back and up and leave him all over again, “That’s not true, that could never happen, you hear me? I liked taking care of you, I wanted to take care of you.” 

“Really?” She asked hopefully, her face soft and dream-like, “I liked taking care of you too, when you would let me,” 

It was true he had tried to push his own feelings on the back burner, besides the few times the dam had cracked and he wound up with his head in her lap receiving the brunt of the affection that evening. He didn’t know why he ever doubted she would have wanted to do that; when he had his migraines she had done nothing but love on him until he felt full to the brim of her warmth. 

He felt himself chuckle, and she shuffled entirely into his arms then squashing out any last molecule of space left between them, and his hand slid over the back of her head, fingers rubbing softly into the nape of her neck which only made her moan loudly, entirely unaware of how sensitive her skin was from the molly. 

“That feels nice, Spencer,” She hummed, her thighs straddling his own as she squished herself against him more, “You feel so nice, I love you so much.” 

He would be lying if he  said the sounds she was making didn’t shoot straight to his dick, and hoped more than anything that she couldn’t feel how it pressed against his stomach angrily. His heart beat rattled loudly, and he swore she had to be able to hear it.

“I love you too,” Spencer sighed, wishing he could have said this to her sober. Wishing she wouldn’t shut him out so easily, wishing he’d pushed her walls a little harder. 

Then she did something he wasn’t expecting. It took all of two seconds for him to close his eyes and hum in content, where her hands were playing with the soft of his waist, and his fingertips stroked her jaw gently, but in a quick movement she planted her lips on his in a soft, sweet peck that he barely had time to register was happening before he pulled away in shock. 

She kissed him. She had kissed him. 

And he wanted her so badly, wanted her in every way it was possible to have someone, wanted to kiss her so hard his face went blue and his lips went numb and his throat burned with lack of oxygen. But he would never dare do anything when she was like this; vulnerable, intoxicated, unaware that the pill she’d taken had acted like a truth serum.

“We’re so silly,” Bugsy giggled, and for a moment she looked twenty two again, like the girl that had answered the door to him in college in nothing but her boxers and a shirt, with her metal music playing so loud he could hear it ringing in his ears minutes after she’d switched it off. She looked like his Bugsy again. 

Spencer chuckled with her incredulously, feeling his face on fire from her action, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest that had been immovable for months, because as hard as her come down would hit her, things seemed different now, like they actually had a kicking chance of getting through the grief together. 

But before he could say anything else, her eyes had fluttered shut under the warmth of his palm, and she had drifted off to sleep. 

He guessed he’d have to tell her tomorrow. 

–

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[fangdokja]

Yoo, can I ask a question? - yandere (of course) tartaglia, wanderer (or scaramouche) and kazuha, with a reader who has.. a slightly interesting temper, that is, the reader has an unconventional, sarcastic, extremely cynical sense of humor) humor is the reader's protective reflex, maybe.. The reader is constantly trying to turn everything into humor,often makes sarcastic little comments even if at the wrong moment.. (but reader still manages to make people laugh) Maybe this is a bit of a strange request, but why not? (I just often see how in yandere fics the reader is assigned almost the same behavior, I would like to read something new, and besides, you are one of my favorite yandere writers!) I hope my request complied with your rules, because there are SO MANY OF THEM.. I don't even remember some of them lol.. I'll be glad if you accept my request! thank you 💋

Too many thoughts, not enough brain cells. Let’s see what happens.

❤︎ Synopsis. A chaotic whirlwind of sarcasm and unfiltered humor, you—channeling the energy of Gojo Satoru—navigates life like it's a comedy show. Nothing is too serious, and everything’s an opportunity for a joke—even when the world’s falling apart.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Genshin Impact Males (Tartaglia, Wanderer, Kazuha) x Fem. Gojo (?)! Reader (separate?)

♡ Headcanon. Humor First, Consequences Later - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 12,339

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con + manipulation, angst + tragedy, sexual themes

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

♡ A/N #1. This turned out longer than it was supposed to be......... but it was necessary for the build-up. So waha. And, this definitely has a different formatting and plot development style from all my other works (especially formatting), but that was done on purpose. And, yes, I'm putting this story in WITD, despite it's length, because of the formatting. Well, either way, hope you all enjoy :))

♡ A/N #2. Thank you for the support and reading so far, I appreciate it and also for taking the time to read the RULES. But, I have to inform you all on some important rules especially. As mentioned in my rules, requesters aren’t allowed to assign behavior towards the reader. For only MY works particularly, I agree that most of the behavior of reader is generally the same. Why? Well, simple, I hardly encounter self inserts with apathetic, actually not emotional readers. I lack book food. There are SO MANY emotional readers inserts. And even sarcastic sassy ones. I have no food. So I cooked my own food instead. I’ve read so many over the years, that honestly? The ones close to my personality are ALWAYS original novels with male characters. Literally Fang Yuan from Reverend Insanity cooks hardest, and even then there was that stupid part in almost Chapter 3k mark that I hated. Because they added emotions and shiz. And here I thought I found a true villain character. Small rant. But even then only he cooks really, both intelligence wise and even personality wise. No one has even beaten Fang Yuan in terms of strategy and intelligence from books that I haven’t created.

♡ A/N #3. I get it. Females are emotionally built, even biologically. But, I’m not overly emotional. I can act it, but feeling it? No. I can create other personality readers. I’ve literally written a lot of OC’s from thinkers to feelers so I can. But. Guys. I also self-insert myself in these stories whahaha. It’s not exactly my personality, but it’s still part of me. However, I’ll make an exception this time since I just released a new book, “Whispers In The Dark” for short stories. Since I’m actually a person who dislikes reading self inserts with mean readers of any kinds. This does not sound humble at all, but I’m not a mean person at all if it comes to commentary. I just keep to myself or keep my mouth shut. And I also HATE reading main characters with tempers. Probably because, I have a very mellow personality in reality. And emotions? Hardly feel anything tbh.

♡ A/N #4. Anyways so I won’t get mad when writing this, here’s basically a Gojo inspired Reader. Most ENTP’s (especially 8w7 and 7w8) are relatable to me, and I relate to Gojo a lot. Never simped, but I relate. But, next time, to anyone. I will NEVER be writing content that assigns a personality to reader. It’s one of the few things I have freedom in to just enjoy writing. I would honestly just get really irritated if I had to follow a set personality to reader. Yeah, I may write consistently the same reader, but that like genuinely makes me happy to write a reader that I can finally relate to. I hardly find stories like that. Much more in reader inserts. I hope you all understand. Kind of pathetic to say “I just wanna have fun”. But, it’s true and foundational to me. I have a difficult time writing if I’m not having fun.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia (Childe) who first noticed you in the midst of a chaotic battlefield, blades clashing and blood splattering in all directions. He was there for his own mission, but your laughter—loud, sardonic, and downright inappropriate—caught his attention.

You’d just disarmed one of his men with a sarcastic comment and a flashy spin move, only to remark, “Well, that’s one way to make him stop talking.” Tartaglia’s first thought was: This one gets it.

The two of you had crossed paths before, but this was different. You fought with a ferocity he hadn’t seen in a long time, and the fact that you seemed entirely unfazed by the danger surrounding you only intrigued him further.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who you clashed blades with in the middle of a chaotic battlefield. The air was thick with violence and the sound of metal, but there you were, laughing through the chaos.

"Well, this is fun! Is this your idea of a date, or should I try harder?" you joked, dodging his ruthless strikes with a grin that could only be described as wicked. Tartaglia couldn’t stop himself from grinning back, impressed by your chaotic energy and your apparent lack of fear.

"You're bold, I'll give you that," he quipped, flipping his spear expertly. "But I gotta ask—are you always this insufferable, or am I just lucky?"

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who first noticed you during a chaotic battlefield where chaos was your language, and you spoke it fluently. You both crashed into each other mid-fight, swords clashing in a brutal rhythm, but the moment his eyes locked with yours—amidst the blood, the screams, and the madness—he felt a jolt of recognition.

Not of fear, no, but of pure chaotic understanding. "Well, well, well, looks like you're not just another pretty face—you're a disaster in the best way possible."

You didn't miss a beat, "Flattery will get you nowhere, buddy. But I’ll take it. You really should work on your aim though."

Despite being enemies in that instant, he couldn’t help but enjoy the way you threw yourself into battle—your sarcasm as sharp as your blade. Every strike was a witty remark wrapped in bloodshed. You were an unfiltered storm of energy, and he couldn’t help but think, “This is the kind of chaos I want in my life.”

After the battle, despite the blood and sweat, you both shared a laugh as if you had just finished a light sparring session, not a life-or-death duel.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who being the chaotic soul he was, immediately clicked with you, and your shared irreverence made it impossible for him to hate you, even if you were technically enemies.

Tartaglia spoke with a handsome boyish grin, "I’m gonna need a drink after that, how about you?"

"Nah, you’ll need a bottle, pal. But we both know you’re a lightweight."

"You wound me."

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer (Scaramouche) who hated you immediately. The moment he met you, you gave him the most obnoxious smirk and made some comment about how “intense” he looked, like a lost kitten trying to be menacing. You couldn't help it—his dramatic aura was begging for a punchline.

“Oh, look. A robot with an existential crisis. What’s next, a lecture on how you’re misunderstood by the world?” The sheer audacity of your sarcasm sent a shockwave through him, one that made him freeze for a split second.

“I’d ask you to smile, but I’m pretty sure that would crack your face,” you quipped, and the cold, calculating expression he wore only made it worse. He stared at you with thinly veiled contempt, his distaste for your flippant attitude and sarcasm immediate.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who hated you even more when you opened your mouth. During a tense moment of political intrigue, Wanderer was deep in a conversation with some high-ranking officials, trying to manipulate them for his own advantage, when you interrupted with a perfectly timed comment.

"Wow, these people talk more than my grandmother at Christmas dinner. Do they even hear themselves?"

The room went dead silent. Wanderer’s eyes narrowed as he turned to look at you, trying to figure out who this... jester was. Your irreverent attitude was a sharp contrast to his own cold, calculating nature.

"Are you always this... unbearable?" he asked, his voice laced with disdain.

"Well, only when I’m surrounded by such charming people like you," you replied, not a hint of fear in your voice.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who didn’t know how to handle your complete lack of respect. He saw you as an irritating fly—one he couldn’t just swat away because of your sharp tongue and unpredictable nature. But that didn’t stop the twisted curiosity that started to bloom in him. Maybe he hated you, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy watching you twist every interaction into a dark comedy sketch.

“Do you always treat people like this?” he sneered, but you only shrugged.

“Nah, just you,” you replied with a wink, “but don’t feel too special. I hate everyone equally.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who, unlike the others, didn’t immediately form an opinion about you. You met him on a peaceful evening, sitting by the fire as you shared a drink.

"Nice music, but tell me—do you ever sing songs about decapitations or revenge? You know, the classics," you asked, leaning against a tree with a mischievous grin. Kazuha blinked, momentarily thrown off balance by your unexpected question.

He chuckled, albeit nervously. "Ah, well, I do tend to favor more peaceful melodies. The world has enough violence, don’t you think?"

You shrugged dramatically. "Sure, but I think it’s just a matter of perspective. You’ve never heard a good ‘revenge ballad,’ have you? Something with blood, guts, and a sweet vengeance story?"

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who was calm, collected, and in no hurry to make judgments about people.

"You’ve got a sharp tongue," Kazuha remarked with a soft laugh, sensing the tension you carried beneath your humor.

"Sharp enough to cut through all the nonsense in the world," you replied with a smirk. "It’s a survival tactic, you know? Get too serious, and people start thinking you’re a threat."

Kazuha chuckled, but there was a quiet understanding in his eyes. Unlike Wanderer, who despised your sarcasm, Kazuha found a strange comfort in it.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who spent hours talking with you—half serious, half joking—and by the end of the night, you couldn’t quite tell if Kazuha had warmed to you or simply found your humor amusing. He was neutral, calm, but there was something about your cynicism that tugged at his heart. Not in a romantic way—more like a curiosity about the darkness behind your jokes.

Despite everything, Kazuha found himself oddly protective of you, even if you were too much of a loose cannon for his liking.

"You really know how to push people’s buttons," Kazuha mused with a faint smile, sipping his drink.

"It's a gift," you replied with a grin, letting the conversation fade into the night.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who didn't dislike you. It was more that he didn’t quite understand you. He found your humor bizarre—borderline morbid, really—but at the same time, it made him appreciate the way you could maintain your composure in the face of things that would send anyone else into a frenzy. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was something magnetic about your wit, your sharp tongue, and the way you saw the world.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who couldn’t get you out of his head after that battlefield encounter.

At first, it was your audacity that stood out—who cracks jokes while fighting for their life? But as you two clashed more often, he found himself genuinely entertained by your wit. Each fight became less about winning and more about trading barbs.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia purposefully pick fights with you just to hear your comebacks. One time, mid-battle, you yelled, “You gonna twirl that spear all day, or are we actually fighting?” He almost dropped it because he was laughing so hard.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who invites you for drinks post-battle as if you’re not enemies. “Come on, you’ve earned it,” he’d say with a grin. “I’ll even let you pick the bar. But if you poison my drink, we’re gonna have a problem.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia becomes your unofficial sparring partner. The battles become a game of who can outwit the other with sarcastic comments.

“You call that a strike? My kid brother could hit harder,” you’d say, dodging his attack.

“Oh yeah?” he’d reply, smirking.

“Maybe I’ll let him fight you next time.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when he eventually starts treating you like one of his comrades. He shares stories about his family, asks about your past (you deflect with humor), and even brings you snacks during downtime. “You fight better when you’re not hangry,” he claims.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer despises your existence but can’t seem to avoid you. Every time he’s working on some secretive plan, you pop up with a sarcastic comment.

“Wow, plotting world domination again? Don’t forget the evil laugh—it really sells it.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer tries to ignore you, but your presence grates on his nerves. “Do you ever shut up?” he snaps one day, glaring at you.

“Not if I can help it,” you reply with a smirk. “What’s the point of silence when your misery is so much fun?”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer reluctantly teams up with you during a mission. It’s strictly business, but you make it nearly impossible for him to stay professional.

“You know,” you say, “if you smiled more, people might actually like you.” He glares, but the faintest twitch of amusement betrays him.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when for the first time he lets his guard down, it’s accidental. After a long, grueling day, you find him staring at the stars.

“So, what’s the brooding about tonight?” you ask, sitting beside him. He doesn’t answer immediately, but eventually, he mutters, “Nothing you’d understand.”

“Try me,” you challenge, and for once, he indulges you.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer begrudgingly respects your intelligence. Despite your flippant attitude, you have a knack for solving problems in ways he wouldn’t consider. He won’t admit it, but he’s impressed.

“You’re not as useless as you look,” he says one day.

“Thanks, I’ll embroider that on a pillow,” you reply.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when your sarcasm starts to grow on him.

When someone else insults him, you’re the first to step in with a cutting remark. “Hey, I’m the only one allowed to call him insufferable, okay?”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha meets you on a quiet evening, and your energy is a stark contrast to his calm demeanor.

“Do you ever stop being so mellow?” you ask after he recites a haiku. “What’s life without a little chaos?”

He smiles faintly and replies, “Perhaps you bring enough for both of us.”

Traveling with Kazuha feels like a comedy routine. You constantly try to bait him into arguing, but he just humors you.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you enjoy this,” you tease.

“Perhaps I do,” he replies, eyes twinkling.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha is the only one who sees the cracks in your humor.

Late one night, you sit by the fire, unusually quiet. “Even storms have calm moments,” he says softly, offering you a drink.

“Don’t get used to it,” you reply, smirking, but there’s gratitude in your eyes.

Your dark humor doesn’t faze him; if anything, he finds it endearing. When you jokingly suggest writing a song about a gruesome battle, he actually considers it.

“A ballad of bloodshed and bravery?” he muses. “Sounds poetic.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha subtly encourages you to open up. He never pries, but his quiet patience makes it easier for you to let your guard down.

“You’re oddly calming, you know that?” you admit one day. “Like a weirdly wise fortune cookie.”

He laughs and says, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, despite his gentle nature, doesn’t hesitate to protect you. When a fight breaks out during your travels, he steps in without hesitation.

“Don’t worry,” he says, drawing his blade. “You’re not facing this alone.”

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who realizes he’s falling for you during one of your sparring sessions. You’d taken a hit—nothing serious—but enough for him to notice. After the match, he grabbed your arm, inspecting the wound with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“Relax, Childe, it’s just a scratch,” you said, smirking through the wince.

“Stop joking for one second,” he replied, a little sharper than usual. As he wrapped the bandage around your arm, his hands were surprisingly gentle.

You tried to lighten the mood. “What, worried you’d have to explain this to my ghost?”

He didn’t laugh this time. “No, I just—” He stopped himself, his usual cocky grin faltering.

“You’re reckless, you know that? I can’t always be around to patch you up.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who finds himself watching you more carefully after that, his playful facade slipping every time you brush off an injury or laugh in the face of danger. It’s in those moments he realizes your humor hides something deeper—a pain he’s desperate to understand.

When you finally catch him staring, you raise an eyebrow. “What’s with the puppy-dog eyes? You’re not getting sentimental on me, are you?”

His grin returns, but there’s a softness behind it. “Maybe I just like looking at you.”

For once, your usual quip dies on your lips, and the silence between you is louder than the battlefield.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who starts noticing your distant stares during quiet moments. He catches you gazing into the horizon, your usual smirk replaced by an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“What’s wrong? Forgot your punchline?” he asks, his tone biting but not cruel.

“Just thinking,” you reply, your voice softer than he’s used to.

“That’s new,” he mutters, sitting beside you. When you don’t snap back with a retort, he frowns. “What’s going on with you?”

You shrug, deflecting with humor. “Guess I’m out of jokes for the day. Mark your calendar—it’s a historic moment.”

But he doesn’t let it go. “You can’t fool me with that act. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who doesn’t push you to open up but finds himself frustrated by your reluctance to trust him. He hates that you make him care this much, but the thought of you being hurt—physically or emotionally—makes his chest tighten.

When you finally let out a small, dry laugh and say, “You really don’t know when to quit, huh?” he feels an odd sense of victory.

“Someone has to keep you in line,” he replies, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who finds you one evening, hunched over a journal he gifted you long ago. You’re scribbling furiously, completely absorbed, and he can’t help but smile softly at the sight.

“You’re quite the writer,” he comments, startling you.

“Geez, give a person a warning next time,” you grumble, closing the journal instinctively.

Kazuha tilts his head, amused. “What are you hiding in there? Plans for world domination?”

You smirk. “Nah, just embarrassing poetry about how much I love chaos.”

But when he gently reaches for the journal, you hesitate before handing it over. Inside, he finds sketches of places you’ve traveled together, snippets of conversations, and little notes about your adventures.

“You kept all of this?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

“Yeah, well, don’t get a big head about it,” you reply, trying to downplay the sentiment.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who notices the way your humor becomes softer, almost shy, when you talk about the memories you’ve shared. It’s in those moments he realizes how much you’ve let him into your life—even if you don’t fully trust him yet.

“You’re more sentimental than you let on,” he says with a gentle smile.

“Don’t spread that around,” you reply, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in your eyes that he treasures.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who catches you off guard one evening after a particularly intense sparring session. You’re both sitting on the ground, exhausted but grinning. He hands you a flask of water, and as you take it, your fingers brush.

“Careful, Childe,” you tease. “I might think you’re getting soft on me.”

He chuckles, but his eyes are serious. “Maybe I am. Around you, anyway.”

You pause, your usual smirk faltering as you look at him. “Don’t joke about that,” you say, your tone unusually soft.

“I’m not joking,” he replies, his voice steady. “You’re more than just a good fight to me. I care about you.”

For once, you don’t deflect. Instead, you lean back, staring up at the stars, and mutter, “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

But the way your lips twitch into a small, genuine smile doesn’t escape his notice.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, as he’s walking you back to your camp, and you stop abruptly. “Hey, Childe?”

“Yeah?”

You turn to face him, your grin replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable. “Thanks. For putting up with me.”

The warmth in your eyes is something he’s never seen before, and for the first time, you seem completely unguarded. Before you can say anything else, he cups your face with his hand, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“You’re worth it,” he murmurs, leaning in slightly. And when you don’t pull away, he closes the distance, his kiss surprisingly tender.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who finds you sitting alone under a tree, the sun setting behind you. There’s an unusual stillness in your demeanor, and he approaches cautiously.

“What’s with the brooding hero act?” he asks, sitting down beside you.

You snort. “Maybe I just like the dramatic lighting.”

But he notices the way your fingers fidget with the hem of your sleeve, a telltale sign of your unease. “You’re terrible at lying,” he mutters.

“Only to people who can’t take a joke,” you quip, but your usual bravado lacks its usual spark.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who doesn’t say anything, just sits beside you until the silence becomes comfortable. Eventually, you speak again. “Do you ever feel like… no matter what you do, you’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

The question surprises him, and for a moment, he doesn’t know how to respond. “All the time,” he admits, his voice quieter than usual.

You glance at him, your eyes searching his for something you can’t quite name. Then, with a small sigh, you rest your head on his shoulder. “Guess that makes two of us.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when the gesture catches him completely off guard, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he shifts slightly to make you more comfortable, his hand twitching at his side as though debating whether to touch you.

“You’re warm,” you murmur, your voice tinged with amusement.

“And you’re annoying,” he replies, but there’s no bite in his tone.

For the first time, there’s a genuine warmth in your smile, and he can’t help but feel like he’s finally starting to understand you.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who notices the change in you during a quiet evening by the campfire. You’re holding the journal he gave you, flipping through its pages with a soft expression.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice low and gentle.

You glance up, startled, and then shrug. “Just… how far we’ve come, I guess.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who smiles, sitting beside you. “It’s been quite the journey, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice unusually quiet. Then, after a pause, you add, “You’ve been… really patient with me. I don’t think I ever said thanks.”

“You don’t need to,” he replies, his eyes searching yours.

“No, I do,” you insist, looking at him with an intensity that takes him by surprise. “I’m not… easy to deal with. But you stayed anyway. That means something.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha when the vulnerability in your tone is something he’s never heard before, and he feels his chest tighten.

Without thinking, he reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. “You mean more to me than you realize,” he says softly.

You stare at him for a long moment before lacing your fingers with his. “Maybe I’m starting to get that,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

For the first time, your smile is free of sarcasm or deflection. It’s warm, genuine, and utterly disarming.

“I’ll take that as a victory,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Don’t get used to it,” you tease, but there’s no bite in your words.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, when the firelight dances in your eyes, and he looks at you, he knows he’d follow you anywhere.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who surprises you one evening with a quiet dinner set up near a cliff overlooking the ocean. When you see the setup, complete with lanterns and freshly caught seafood, you raise an eyebrow.

“This is new,” you say, smirking. “What’s the occasion? Did someone die?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Can’t I just do something nice for you?”

“You? Nice?” you tease, plopping down onto the blanket. “You’re setting a dangerous precedent, Childe.”

As the evening wears on, the atmosphere becomes more intimate. The way he looks at you, with a rare softness in his expression, makes your usual bravado falter.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, at one point, he leans closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You snort, your cheeks warming. “You need to work on your pickup lines.”

But when he cups your face and kisses you, slow and deliberate, your witty comeback dies on your lips. His touch is both tender and possessive, a silent reminder that he’s already decided you’re his.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer drags you out of bed one morning, much to your annoyance. “I promise, if this isn’t life-threatening, I’m going back to sleep,” you grumble, rubbing your eyes.

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go of your wrist. “Just shut up and follow me.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer where he leads you to a secluded hilltop just as the sun begins to rise. The view is breathtaking, but you’re still half-asleep and unimpressed.

“You woke me up for this?” you ask, stifling a yawn.

“Ungrateful as always,” he mutters, crossing his arms. “I thought you’d appreciate the effort.”

Despite your sarcasm, you sit down beside him, the warmth of his shoulder brushing against yours. After a moment, you glance at him and say, “Thanks. For this, I mean.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer smirks, but there’s a faint blush on his cheeks. “Don’t get used to it.”

Later, when you’re lying back in the grass, the silence between you is surprisingly comfortable. He leans over, his fingers brushing against your jaw as he tilts your face toward his.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmurs, his lips hovering just above yours.

“Good,” you reply, grinning. And then he closes the distance, his kiss as intense and consuming as his feelings for you.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha invites you on a late-night stroll, the two of you wandering through a quiet forest illuminated by moonlight. He stops at a clearing where fireflies dance in the air, their glow reflecting in his crimson eyes.

“You sure know how to set a mood,” you say, half-joking.

He chuckles, stepping closer. “It’s not the fireflies setting the mood.”

You raise an eyebrow, your trademark smirk in place. “Kazuha, are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, when he takes your hand and pulls you closer, the teasing remark you were about to make dies in your throat. His hands rest on your waist, his touch featherlight yet grounding.

“You’re the most captivating person I’ve ever met,” he says, his voice filled with sincerity.

For once, you’re at a loss for words. Instead of replying, you pull him down into a kiss, slow and deep, the world around you fading away.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when It’s been a year since he first confessed, and while you’ve spent most of it poking fun at his intensity, tonight feels… different. He’s pacing around your shared campsite after a mission, looking oddly nervous.

“Spit it out already,” you say, lounging on a log and stretching like you don’t have a care in the world. “You’re giving me secondhand anxiety.”

He stops, runs a hand through his hair, and takes a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking… maybe it’s time we made this official.”

You blink, sitting up. “Official?”

“You know,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Us. Together. Permanently.”

“Oh, that kind of official,” you reply, your smirk widening. “You really know how to charm a person, Ajax.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, before he can get defensive, you saunter over, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Relax,” you murmur, your voice dropping an octave. “I’d be stupid to say no, wouldn’t I?”

The relief in his eyes is quickly replaced by something darker, more possessive. “You really mean that?”

Your grin is wicked. “Why don’t you make me prove it?”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who doesn’t need to be told twice. Before you know it, you’re backed against a tree, his hands roaming your body with an urgency that sends shivers down your spine.

“You’re mine now,” he growls against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Completely, utterly mine.”

“Bold of you to assume I wasn’t already,” you quip, though your voice trembles as his hands slip under your shirt.

His laugh is low, almost dangerous. “Oh, I’m going to make sure there’s no doubt left.”

The next thing you know, you’re stripped bare, pinned between him and the rough bark of the tree. His mouth is everywhere—your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your hip—leaving marks that scream possession.

“You look so perfect like this,” he mutters, his voice thick with need. “Completely at my mercy.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” you manage to say, though the tremor in your voice betrays your bravado.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when he finally slides into you, slow and deliberate, your sharp intake of breath is all the encouragement he needs. His pace is relentless, each thrust driving you closer to the edge as he whispers possessive promises against your skin.

“You’re mine,” he repeats, over and over, his grip on your hips bruising. “No one else will ever have you.”

And as your nails rake down his back, pulling him impossibly closer, you realize you wouldn’t have it any other way.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, when It’s late, and you’re lying together in his makeshift tent. The air between you feels heavy, charged with something unsaid. Finally, he sighs and sits up.

“You know,” he says, his tone uncharacteristically soft, “it’s been a year.”

You hum, not bothering to open your eyes. “And?”

“And I think… maybe it’s time we stop pretending this is casual,” he says, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

Your eyes snap open, and you prop yourself up on your elbows. “Wanderer, are you seriously confessing again?”

He glares, but there’s no real bite to it. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” you reply, sitting up fully. “I didn’t think you were the type to get sentimental.”

“Only for you,” he mutters, his cheeks flushing.

You laugh, leaning in to kiss him. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop teasing—for tonight.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when he pulls you onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist as his lips crash against yours. There’s nothing gentle about the way he kisses you—it’s desperate, hungry, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“You’re infuriating,” he growls, his hands sliding under your shirt to explore your bare skin.

“Good,” you breathe, grinding against him. “Wouldn’t want to make things too easy for you.”

His response is a low groan as he flips you onto your back, his body pressing you into the soft fabric of the bedroll. His eyes are dark, his expression utterly unguarded as he looks down at you.

“You’re not getting away tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you reply, smirking.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when he enters you, it’s with a roughness that steals your breath, his movements erratic as he chases both your pleasure and his. His hands pin your wrists above your head, his lips tracing a heated path down your neck.

“You belong to me,” he whispers, his voice trembling with intensity. “No one else.”

And as your moans fill the air, his grip on you tightening, you realize there’s no point in denying it.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where he's sitting beside you by the fire, the two of you wrapped in a comfortable silence. Kazuha leans toward you, his gaze soft yet intense.

“You’ve stayed with me for a year,” he says quietly. “I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have someone like you by my side.”

You roll your eyes, though your smile is genuine. “Are you trying to propose or something?”

His expression doesn’t change. “Maybe I am.”

The teasing remark dies on your lips as he reaches for your hand, his touch featherlight. “I want this. Us. Forever.”

You stare at him for a moment before breaking into a grin. “Well, I’m not exactly in the habit of saying no to you, am I?”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who kisses you then, slow and deliberate, his hands cradling your face like you’re something precious.

When he lays you down by the fire, his movements are unhurried, each touch a silent declaration of his devotion. His hands roam your body, mapping every curve as his lips press heated kisses along your skin.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispers, his voice trembling with emotion.

“Show me,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

And he does.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha when he finally joins with you, it’s slow, almost reverent, his movements guided by the need to make you feel every ounce of his love. His hands never leave your body, his lips pressing soft kisses against your neck, your shoulder, your lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his voice raw with sincerity.

And as the firelight dances across your intertwined bodies, you realize you’ve never felt more adored—or more his.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, as he stands on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean, his mind races. He’s been with you for over a year, and it’s been nothing short of perfect, even if you’re still your usual teasing self. But he knows, deep down, that he can’t wait any longer. He’s made up his mind.

Marry me, he thinks, the words swirling in his mind. It’s not a question, not really. It’s an inevitable conclusion. You’re his. You’ll always be his. The only thing left is to make sure you understand that—completely.

“You’d be the perfect wife,” he mutters to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips. He envisions you, sitting next to him by the fire, laughing, living, thriving beside him. He imagines it all, and it feels… right. It’s what he deserves.

But the question is: How?

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, as his eyes scan the horizon, searching for inspiration. The right setting, he thinks. It has to be memorable. Something personal, something only the two of you can share. Not just some grand spectacle that’ll make you feel overwhelmed—something that’ll make you want to say yes without hesitation.

Or maybe I should take you by surprise, he contemplates, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes. A more intimate, private moment. No distractions. Just the two of you, alone, with nothing but his love wrapping around you.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, where his mind races through countless scenarios—by the water, under the moonlight, with nothing but the sound of the waves crashing at your feet. Or maybe in the heat of the moment, when you’re both caught up in your passion, when the connection between you two is raw and undeniable.

But one thing is clear: Tartaglia knows you’ll say yes. You’ll have to. You’re already his.

He just has to make sure you see it, too. That you realize how deep his love goes. That you understand the intensity of what he’s offering. This isn’t just a ring. It’s a lifetime of devotion and passion.

After a long silence, his eyes harden with resolve. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make you mine forever.”

The plan is set. Now all he has to do is wait for the right moment to make you his wife.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, where two months have passed since that night in the tent, and Wanderer can’t stop thinking about how perfect it is between you two. It’s a strange thing, this feeling in his chest that grows stronger with each passing day.

You’re mine, he thinks, but now, it’s not enough to just claim you. He wants more. He wants you by his side forever. He wants you to carry his name, to have no other but him in your life.

There’s something about you, the way you challenge him, the way you fight him. It stirs something inside him, something primal, something that says, this is the person you’ve been waiting for.

“Marriage,” he mutters to himself. The thought comes to him like a sudden revelation, like the answer to a question he didn’t know he was asking. He doesn’t even blink. It just feels right.

But how? How can he make sure you understand that this isn’t just a casual decision? That he’s serious?

♡ Yandere! Wanderer rolls over in bed, staring at the ceiling. A ring? A symbol of ownership, of course. Something that marks you as his. But how does he make it clear to you that he wants this—wants you—forever?

His thoughts are a whirlwind. He knows that he can’t just come out and ask you. Not like that. You’re too clever, too observant for something so simple. No, he’ll have to make it special.

Perhaps somewhere secluded, just the two of you, far from anyone who could interrupt. He’ll show you his commitment, and then, in the silence of your shared space, he’ll make his declaration. A vow, a promise.

The problem is, he doesn’t trust himself not to just take you right then and there. The idea of you in a white dress, standing beside him, gives him a rush of desire so intense it nearly overwhelms him. But he knows that’s not what he wants.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer wants you to want this, too. Not out of obligation, but because you feel it, because you understand the gravity of what he’s offering.

But how can he make you feel that way? How can he show you that, even though he’s never been one for sentimentality, with you… he’s willing to change?

Wanderer sits up, his eyes narrowed as he thinks it over. He’ll need to be patient, let the moment come naturally, and then when it does…

He’ll claim you forever.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where it's been two months after that night by the fire, his feelings for you have only deepened. He’s spent hours thinking about how to make the moment special, wondering how best to express his love. The idea of forever with you fills him with a warmth he can’t quite put into words.

You’ve been his muse for so long, and now, he wants to make you his in the most meaningful way he can think of.

The problem is… he’s never been good at this. How does one ask for someone’s hand in marriage without sounding cliché or desperate? How can he ask you to be with him forever when everything about him feels so transient?

♡ Yandere! Kazuha watches the wind rustle through the trees, lost in thought. The answer isn’t obvious, but it’s there, in the quiet moments he shares with you. He needs it to be personal, a reflection of the time you’ve spent together, of the bond you’ve created.

A small, intimate setting—a secluded beach at sunset, perhaps. The two of you alone, just like the first night you truly opened up to each other. He’ll ask you when the moment feels right, when the connection between you is so palpable it fills the air.

A simple question, but with everything he is.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha chuckles to himself softly. It doesn’t need to be grand. What matters is that you’ll be his, and he’ll be yours, forever.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when the world slows, and his heart stops for just a moment, realizing that the blow meant for him has fallen upon you instead. You stand between him and the Abyss, your eyes wide in pain as the deadly weapon pierces your body. His breath catches in his throat.

"No..." he whispers, his voice broken as he crawls toward you, blood seeping from your wound.

Your lips curve into a sad, knowing smile, but it’s sharp. "Go," you command, every ounce of strength focused on keeping him safe, even as the life begins to drain from you. "Get out of here. I’ll hold them off. You have to survive. It’s not your time yet."

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia where his entire world crumbles. He can’t think. He can’t breathe. "I won’t leave you," he growls, trying to rise, but the weight of his own failure pulls him back down.

"You will," you say, your voice steady, but you can feel the darkness creeping in. "You will, Ajax. I love you... I always have." Your eyes lock, your gaze filled with such quiet resolve that it nearly breaks him. "I’m yours... but you have to keep fighting... For us."

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia before he can protest, before he can beg, you make your move. With every ounce of your strength, you grab the closest enemy and pull them down with you into the depths of the Abyss, dragging their weapons into the chasm alongside you. You force them all to fall, ensuring they can’t escape with you, ensuring that Tartaglia gets the chance to survive.

"Go!" you scream one last time. "Now!"

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, with every fiber of his being, refuses. His body trembles, his heart splintering into pieces as he watches you disappear into the darkness. He screams your name, his voice thick with despair and rage.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, when you’re gone, when you’ve been consumed by the Abyss and he’s left behind, alone with the silence, he’s never felt more hollow. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since you vanished—days, weeks, or mere minutes. Time has no meaning when you’ve lost the only thing that has ever mattered to you.

But he will find you.

His eyes darken with madness as he stands, his entire body burning with fury. He will never stop searching for you. You think you can escape him? He will tear apart the world, the Abyss, and everything between him and you. If it takes years, if it takes an eternity, he will find you.

The ring in his pocket feels like a weight he can’t carry without you, but he will find a way to make the promise real. The promise he made to you. To love you, forever.

He stands, his fists clenched. The hunt begins.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, as his eyes narrow. "Stay close," he commands. The two of you fight side by side, effortlessly synchronizing your movements as you’ve done countless times before. You’re unstoppable—until today.

Suddenly, the world tilts. A strange force pulls at the very air around you. The weapons they wield are like nothing you’ve seen before. A barrage of magical projectiles rains down from every direction, each one more powerful than the last, each one seemingly tailored to exploit your weaknesses.

You’re fast, but not fast enough. Your energy wanes. Wanderer's face flickers with concern as he fights to protect you, but the odds are overwhelming. Then, one of them moves too quickly, too precisely. They strike at Wanderer with a vicious blow that sends him flying back. His body crashes to the ground, and you’re the first to rush to him to take the killing blow.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, where you’ve fallen, your body slipping into the darkness to protect him—Wanderer watches in disbelief, his heart pounding in his chest as you’re consumed by the Abyss. His voice is raw, lost. “No… no, this can’t be happening.”

He rushes toward you, but the wave of enemies, their weapons tearing at the air, blocks him. His hands are shaking as he tries to reach you, but the moment is slipping away, too fast, too cruel. His mind is screaming for him to do something, anything, but the power of the Abyss pulls you further from him.

As the last of the darkness claims you, you look back. Your eyes are filled with pain, but also love, and the last words you whisper are enough to break him.

"Live, Wanderer," you say. "Live for us…"

♡ Yandere! Wanderer where his knees buckle, his world imploding in on itself as he screams your name. There’s no escaping the agony that claws at his heart. His mind turns dark, fueled by rage and desperation. How dare they? How dare they take you from him?

He grits his teeth, his hands shaking as he rises to his feet. “I’ll kill them all,” he growls, his voice hoarse with rage. “You won’t be forgotten. I swear on everything… I will make them pay.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer stands, a man possessed, and the hunt for vengeance begins.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where, just as he’s about to finally put his plans into motion, to ask you the question that’s been burning in his mind for months, everything shatters. The campfire crackles behind him as he watches you, your eyes catching the last light of the setting sun. He’s so sure, so certain. The ring hidden in his pocket, the words ready to spill from his lips—but then the ground shakes.

A flash of darkness tears through the sky, and Kazuha's instincts scream that something’s wrong. He turns to find you, standing beside him, your hand brushing against his as if fate has already decided. But the moment is shattered, ripped away by the sound of swords clashing, the sudden pressure of cold, calculated death.

A figure in the shadows, their weapon gleaming with deadly precision, lunges at Kazuha. A dozen more emerge, surrounding you both, their weapons crackling with malicious energy. Their presence feels wrong. Their faces are hidden behind cold metal masks, and their movements are unnatural, almost mechanical.

Everything goes wrong too fast, too quickly. You don't hesitate to protect him with your very life, shielding him from a fatal blow, from an injury that could've killed him.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where the moment he sees you fall—your body consumed by the Abyss—he’s frozen, unable to move. He’s never felt fear like this before, the way it twists his insides, cold and sharp. You, the one who’s been his light in the darkness, the one who’s made him believe in something worth fighting for, are now gone.

His eyes are wide as he reaches for you, his heart breaking in his chest. “No… No, this can’t be real. You… you promised…”

But the Abyss has claimed you, and he’s left standing in the dark, the world crumbling around him. His hands tremble as he drops to his knees, his voice barely a whisper.

“I’ll find you,” he vows. “I swear I will. I will bring you back. I will make them pay for this.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha stands, a storm brewing within him, his resolve hardening into something unbreakable. He will find you. And when he does, there will be no place that will ever be able to hide you from him again.

The hunt has begun.

────────────

The world feels like it’s crumbling around him. His heart pounds in his chest, and his hands tremble as he moves through the shadows, eyes searching desperately for any trace of you. He’s been hunting for days—no, weeks—losing himself in the search for the only person who’s ever truly mattered to him. The Abyss took you. They took his light, his love.

He’s driven, possessed by the desire to find you, to bring you back to him, to make everything right again. No obstacle is too great. No danger too perilous. Every step, every breath, every heartbeat is a reminder that he’ll stop at nothing to have you back.

And then, there he is. The Abyss Prince.

His blood runs cold, as he sees Aether standing there, his icy gaze locked onto the battlefield. And in the distance, he sees you—slumped, bloodied, barely conscious. His heart skips a beat.

“No,” He growls, his voice low and dangerous. His every instinct screams to run to you, to hold you, to protect you, but there’s a force that stops him. Something deeper, darker, something unnatural. He knows who’s responsible. It’s him. The Abyss Prince.

His hands curl into fists. His fury surges, but before he can make a move, a chilling, unbearable presence stops him. The world seems to slow.

Suddenly, a blade pierces his chest from behind.

He gasps, his breath catching in his throat as pain explodes through him. His hands shake as he tries to reach for the hilt, but his vision blurs. He looks over his shoulder and sees a familiar face—a face he never thought he’d see in this moment.

It’s you.

A mad gleam in your eyes, a cruel twist to your lips. Your posture, your expression, everything about you has changed. You’re no longer the playful, teasing soul he once knew. You’re cold, calculating, your emotions absent, as though the person he fell in love with is gone. All that remains is someone dangerous.

His heart shatters. His voice trembles as he gasps, “No… No, you—”

But before he can finish, the Abyss Prince steps forward, his cold gaze locking onto him. “You’re not allowed to kill him,” Aether says softly, the command in his voice undeniable. “Not yet.”

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, where his confusion swirls into a storm. He stumbles back, watching as you step away from him, the blade still lodged in his chest, before the Abyss Prince gestures for something to happen. You don’t just leave him wounded—you restrain him, binding him with chains, powerful and unyielding, until he can’t move, can’t even see. His head is tilted back, his vision completely restrained completely by the thick, suffocating darkness of the chains.

He struggles, his breaths shallow, his heart racing. He can feel the cold weight of his situation—the desperation, the helplessness that’s taken root inside him.

“You…” Tartaglia’s voice is raw with fury, with disbelief, and with pain. “What did you do to her? What have you done to my wife?”

But you say nothing. You only scoff, as though the situation is beneath you, as though the man you once knew no longer matters. There’s no playfulness, no warmth, just a chilling, vacant emptiness where your love once was.

Tartaglia’s mind races. This can’t be happening. His wife—his wife—has been manipulated. He knows it. This is all the Abyss’ doing. You’re not like this. They’ve broken you, twisted you, made you into something else. They’ve taken you from him.

His frustration boils over, but he’s helpless. “I’ll kill him,” he growls through clenched teeth. “I’ll kill the Abyss Prince for what he’s done to you.”

But even as the words leave his mouth, he can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong—everything is wrong. He can’t focus. His mind is too clouded, too confused. All he wants is you back. And he’ll stop at nothing to have you again. Even if it means destroying everything in his path.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, where the madness is overwhelming. It’s all so much—the pain, the frustration, the confusion—as he watches you in front of him, cold and emotionless, blade in hand, ready to kill. His thoughts spiral in a frenzy. This can’t be real. He refuses to believe it. You… you’re supposed to be his. You’re supposed to be with him. Yet here you are, ready to snuff his life out.

The Abyss did this to you, he knows it. They’ve taken his love and turned her into something else—something cruel, something empty. Something unrecognizable.

His hand shakes as he tries to reach for you, but the chains binding him keep him stuck. His vision is obscured. Every move he tries to make is futile, a cruel reminder of how powerless he is in this moment.

“Why?” he chokes, his voice thick with emotion. “Why are you doing this? I know they’ve manipulated you. I know you’re not like this.”

But you don’t speak. You just look at him, your eyes cold, devoid of any warmth. He can’t reach you, can’t get through to you.

The Abyss Prince stands by, silent, his eyes as cold as ice. He’s watching this—he’s letting this happen. The rage within Wanderer swells to a point where he can hardly breathe.

“No,” he snarls, pulling against the chains. “I will kill you. You will answer for this.”

But you just smile at him, that same cold, emotionless smile. And all Wanderer can do is watch as his love slips further from his grasp, bound by the chains of the Abyss.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where the world shatters around him as he watches you fall, as he watches you change into something that he no longer recognizes. The blade that once threatened his enemies is now raised to him, your eyes cold, indifferent to the pain he’s in. He’s unable to stop you, even as he feels the weight of the chains binding him, constricting him. You’re too far gone.

“Kazuha…” you murmur, but the words don’t feel right. They sound empty, distant. His heart cracks as he watches you, the woman he loves, standing before him, her emotions stripped away. You are a stranger now.

He gasps, trying to break free, trying to make sense of the situation. “What happened to you?” he whispers hoarsely. “Please, just… just come back. This isn’t you. This isn’t who I fell in love with.”

But you don’t answer. You only watch him, the gleam in your eyes nothing like the playful light he once knew. It’s cold, calculating, and it freezes him to his core.

And then Aether steps forward, his voice a soft command that stills Kazuha’s frantic mind. “You’re not allowed to kill him, not yet,” Aether reminds once more, his presence suffocating.

Kazuha’s breath catches, and his thoughts spin wildly. This can’t be real. You—you—you’ve been twisted. But Aether has the control here. The chains bind Kazuha tighter, his vision clouded by darkness, and all he can do is sit in silence, trapped, powerless.

“Why?” Kazuha chokes, frustration and fear flooding him. “Why are you doing this?”

Still, you don’t answer. You only step back, leaving him to face the Abyss alone, the chains around him tightening with every heartbeat.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia — The Fool's Heart

The battlefield is chaos, Tartaglia’s vision locked onto you. Aether stands at your side, the Abyss Prince exuding an otherworldly menace. Yet, Tartaglia doesn’t care. He’ll cut through anything and anyone to save you, his beloved, from the darkness that has ensnared you.

“Let her go!” Tartaglia snarls, voice cracking with desperation. His body screams from the injuries sustained in his relentless pursuit, but his heart burns hotter. His eyes flick to you—the source of his pain and salvation. “You don’t belong here! Come back to me!”

For a moment, his words seem to falter against your icy gaze. He knows you hear him, knows that somewhere in your heart, the person he loves still exists. But instead of the warmth he longs for, a cruel, mocking smile spreads across your lips.

“Come back?” you repeat, your tone dripping with false innocence. “Oh, Tartaglia, you poor, stupid fool.”

His breath hitches, confusion flashing across his face. Aether glances at you, silent but visibly amused, as though he’s watching a particularly entertaining performance. You turn to the Abyss Prince, patting his shoulder with an air of camaraderie that shatters Tartaglia’s world.

“He’s SO dumb,” you say with a cackle, tilting your head back to laugh. “Did he really think he was that special? That I cared? Oh, this is too good.”

Tartaglia stumbles back as if struck. “What… what are you saying?” he whispers, voice trembling.

“Everything, from the very beginning…” you start, pacing in front of him like a predator toying with its prey. “The teasing, the affection, the nights we spent together, the ‘sacrifices’ I made to protect you. All of it. A lie.”

He shakes his head violently, refusing to believe it. “No! You… you almost died for me! You saved me!”

You roll your eyes, brandishing the very blade you once used to fight by his side. “Please, Childe. That was just part of the plan. You were so much fun to manipulate, though. I’ll give you credit for that. Getting through your walls wasn’t easy.”

Tartaglia’s hands clench into trembling fists. His heart feels as if it’s being ripped apart. “You’re lying. This isn’t you. This is the Abyss! They’ve done something to you!”

“Oh, darling,” you croon, stepping closer to him. Your blade tilts his chin up, forcing him to look into your eyes. “I’ve always been like this. You were just too blind to see it.”

Aether’s voice cuts through the tension. “Enough.” The Prince’s command is calm, almost bored. “He’s served his purpose.”

You sigh, turning back to Aether. “Fine, fine. But can we please kill him now? This melodrama is getting tedious.”

Tartaglia’s vision blurs as the weight of betrayal crashes over him. He can’t reconcile the love he felt with the monster before him. Even as his body fails, his heart stubbornly clings to the hope that this is some cruel illusion.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer — Shackles of Betrayal

Wanderer’s indigo eyes are wide with disbelief, fixed on you as you stand beside Aether. The Abyss Prince’s presence is oppressive, but it’s your cold smirk that steals the breath from his lungs.

“Why are you doing this?” Wanderer’s voice cracks, his usual sharp wit replaced by a trembling vulnerability. “I trusted you. I… loved you.”

You tilt your head, feigning surprise. “Loved me? That’s sweet. But did you really think someone like me could love someone like you?”

The words hit him like a blow, but you’re not finished. You twirl a dagger in your hand, your movements lazy and confident. “Let me guess. You thought we were kindred spirits, two broken souls finding solace in each other? How… adorable.”

Wanderer’s rage flares, his chains rattling as he strains against them. “You liar! I’ll kill him! I’ll kill the Abyss Prince and get you back, no matter what it takes!”

Aether chuckles softly, and you laugh along with him, the sound grating against Wanderer’s raw nerves. “Kill him?” you echo. “Oh, darling, you couldn’t even touch him. And you think I want to be ‘saved’ by you? Don’t make me laugh.”

Wanderer freezes, the weight of your words sinking in. He studies your face, searching for any trace of the person he thought he knew, but all he finds is a stranger wearing your skin.

“Why?” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “Why would you do this?”

You shrug, tossing the dagger into the air and catching it effortlessly. “Because it’s fun. And because Aether needed a little help with a certain someone.” Your gaze sharpens, and for a moment, Wanderer sees the madness in your eyes. “You were just a pawn, dear. A very entertaining pawn, but a pawn nonetheless.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha — The Storm’s Deceit

Kazuha kneels, his hands bound by unyielding chains, his soft crimson eyes filled with betrayal as he looks up at you. The gentle breeze that usually follows him is eerily still, as though the world itself mourns his heartbreak.

“I don’t understand,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “How could you… why would you do this?”

You sigh, as if exasperated by his naivety. “Oh, Kazuha. Always so poetic, so trusting. It’s almost endearing how much faith you put in people. Almost.”

He flinches at the derision in your tone. “You saved me. You risked your life for me. Was all of that a lie?”

You kneel before him, cupping his face with a mocking tenderness. “Not all of it,” you admit. “Some of it was necessary. After all, how else was I supposed to gain your trust?”

Kazuha’s breath hitches, his heart shattering into pieces he can hardly comprehend. “You used me,” he says, more to himself than to you. “You’ve been using me this whole time.”

“Bingo!” you chirp, pulling back and spinning on your heel. “Took you long enough to figure it out. Honestly, I was starting to think you’d never catch on.”

Aether steps forward, his presence a cold shadow that looms over Kazuha. “Are we done here?” he asks, his tone bored.

You glance at him with a pout. “Almost. Just let me have this moment. Watching him break is the best part.”

Kazuha’s head hangs low, his spirit crushed beneath the weight of your betrayal. Yet, even as despair overtakes him, a small ember of hope remains. He vows, silently and fiercely, to free you from the Abyss’ clutches—no matter what it takes.

You, however, have other plans. As you turn away, a cruel smile graces your lips. The game has only just begun, and you’re already thinking of your next move.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia — The Fool's Heart

The battlefield reeks of blood and fire, the aftermath of Tartaglia’s relentless pursuit of you. His breaths come ragged, his body battered, yet his gaze remains locked on you. Aether stands beside you, radiating the chilling authority of the Abyss Prince.

“You think this is over?” Tartaglia spits, his voice raw with determination. “I’ll tear apart this entire Abyss if I have to—just to bring you back.”

You laugh—a sound that is anything but warm. It’s a sharp, maniacal cackle, filled with scornful glee. “Back? To what, exactly? Your pathetic little life of lies and delusions?”

He flinches, but you’re already closing the distance between you. Your hand shoots out, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him off the ground with unnatural strength. His vision swims, yet he refuses to look away from you.

“You’re nothing without me,” you hiss, your grip tightening as his struggles grow weaker. “Do you honestly believe your love could save anyone, Childe? That I needed saving? How quaint.”

He gurgles something incoherent, but you only tighten your hold, leaning in close enough for him to feel your breath against his ear. “The only thing you’re good for is bleeding. Look at you, all this power, all this loyalty, and for what? For me to spit in your face?”

You release him suddenly, letting him collapse in a heap at your feet. He clutches at his throat, gasping for air, but you’re not done. Your boot presses against his chest, pinning him down.

“Don’t look so shocked,” you sneer, tilting your head like a predator savoring the kill. “Did you think I was some damsel in need of rescuing? No, darling. I’m the monster your nightmares warned you about.”

Tartaglia’s eyes blaze with despair and determination as he chokes out, “I’ll… I’ll kill him… take you back…”

Your laughter erupts again, wild and unhinged. “Kill him? Oh, sweetheart, you can’t even stand. You’re nothing but a pitiful fool—a fool who thought love could conquer someone like me.”

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer — Shackles of Betrayal

Wanderer thrashes against the chains binding him, his indigo eyes burning with fury and disbelief. His usual sharp tongue fails him as he stares at you, standing beside Aether, a wicked grin plastered across your face.

“You’re insane,” Wanderer growls, venom dripping from every word. “Let me go, and I’ll make you regret this.”

You clap your hands mockingly, the sound echoing in the cavernous Abyss chamber. “Regret? Oh, sweetheart, regret is for people who make mistakes. I’m having too much fun watching you squirm.”

He lunges against the chains, his strength formidable but useless against the Abyssal restraints. “You lied to me!” he snarls. “Everything—you lied about everything!”

“Of course I did,” you say with a sing-song lilt, stepping closer. Your hands trail lazily over his face, your nails scraping just enough to hurt. “Did you really think someone like me could ever care about someone like you? A discarded puppet, a useless little doll?”

His expression twists with rage, but the vulnerability behind it is unmistakable. “You’re wrong,” he bites out. “You cared. I saw it. I felt it.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” you coo mockingly, before your voice drops, sharp as a blade. “Feel this.”

Your knee slams into his gut, forcing a pained gasp from his lips. You grab his hair, yanking his head back so he’s forced to look at you. “I never cared about you. You were just a stepping stone, a toy for me to break when I got bored. And guess what? I’m bored now.”

Aether chuckles behind you, his voice cold and amused. “You’re cruel,” he observes.

You flash him a wicked grin. “Why, thank you, my prince. I do aim to please.”

Wanderer’s voice is hoarse, filled with hatred and anguish. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill you. You’ll regret this.”

Your laughter is pure insanity, ringing out like a bell of doom. “Try, little puppet. Try and fail, again and again. It’s the only thing you’re good for.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha — The Storm’s Deceit

Kazuha kneels in chains, his crimson eyes filled with sorrow as he gazes up at you. The stillness of the air is suffocating, the calm before a storm that will never come.

“You…” he begins, his voice a broken whisper. “You were my compass. My home. How could you betray me like this?”

You crouch in front of him, your eyes alight with malevolent joy. “Betray you?” you echo, your tone mockingly sweet. “Oh, Kazuha, don’t flatter yourself. You were never that important to me.”

His breath hitches, but you don’t stop. You lean in, your lips brushing his ear as you murmur, “You were just a convenient tool, a way to pass the time. A pretty little plaything for me to use and discard.”

Kazuha flinches as if struck, his spirit cracking under the weight of your words. “You don’t mean that,” he says, but the tremor in his voice betrays his doubt.

You laugh, the sound a haunting melody of madness. “Oh, but I do. Every word. And do you know the best part? Watching you break, piece by piece.”

Your hand grips his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You thought you could save me, didn’t you? That your love could heal whatever darkness you saw in me. How utterly pathetic.”

He trembles under your touch, his chains rattling as his hands ball into fists. “I’ll find a way,” he vows, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll free you from this darkness.”

You burst into laughter, throwing your head back in pure delight. “Free me? Oh, Kazuha, I am the darkness. There’s nothing to free me from.”

Aether steps forward, his presence a cold shadow beside you. “He’s done,” the Abyss Prince says. “Let him wallow in his failure.”

You stand, casting one last mocking glance at Kazuha. “Goodbye, my little storm. Try not to drown in your tears.”

As you walk away, Kazuha’s head hangs low, his heart shattered—but the fire of his resolve burns on.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia — The Fool's Heart

The kiss you share with Aether is cruelly deliberate, a deep, searing display of mockery meant for the man crumpled at your feet. Tartaglia’s battered body trembles, his fists digging into the scorched ground as he watches, his chest heaving with a suffocating cocktail of pain and rage.

“Don’t look away,” you taunt, your lips still wet with the evidence of your betrayal. “This is the truth, Childe. This is all you ever were to me—something to laugh at.”

Aether scoffs, shoving you away, irritation flashing in his Abyssal gaze. But you only laugh, twirling back to face Tartaglia, your grin stretching wider as your gaze locks with his. Gone is the warmth he clung to, the person he thought he loved. In its place is a madness so stark, so twisted, it shatters whatever hope remained in his heart.

The realization crashes into him like a tidal wave—you never cared for him. Not once. Not even in the smallest, fleeting moment. His breath hitches, a dry, humorless laugh escaping his lips.

“I see it now,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse but laced with a dangerous calm. “You don’t deserve kindness. And I’ve been far too kind to you.”

Your grin falters, if only for a second, as he rises to his knees, his gaze blazing with something new—something unhinged.

“It’s too late to turn back,” he says, his tone eerily even. “I don’t need your love, or your lies, anymore. You’ll be mine, no matter what I have to destroy to make it happen.”

As Abyss subordinates drag him away, his eyes never leave yours, his smirk dark and foreboding. “Run, hide, laugh while you can. I’ll be coming for you. And when I do, you’ll regret every breath you ever stole from me.”

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer — Shackles of Betrayal

Your lips crash against Aether’s, an act of derision that sends a violent shudder through Wanderer’s restrained form. His chains rattle as his whole body tenses, the burning in his eyes consuming what little humanity he’d clung to.

“You’re a fool,” you whisper against Aether’s lips before pulling away, your laughter slicing through the silence. The Abyss Prince wipes his mouth with a look of disdain, but your amusement only grows. You whirl around to face Wanderer, your grin a feral slash across your face.

“You never saw it, did you?” you sneer, your voice dripping with venom. “All that time, all those stolen moments—and you never noticed the madness in my eyes. You’re not a victim, Wanderer. You’re just another broken thing for me to play with.”

For a moment, he’s silent. Then, the corners of his lips twitch upward, forming a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his tone soft yet laced with something chilling. “You think this is over, don’t you?”

You tilt your head, intrigued by the shift in his demeanor.

“Go ahead,” he continues, his voice gaining strength. “Laugh, mock me, pretend you’ve won. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

The Abyss soldiers begin to drag him away, but his eyes stay fixed on yours, unyielding and terrifying.

“You’ve taken everything from me,” he says, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “So now, I’ll do the same to you. Love? Hate? It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll strip you bare, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but me.”

And as he’s pulled into the shadows, his final words echo like a curse: “You’ll never escape me, not even in death.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha — The Storm’s Deceit

Your kiss with Aether is theatrical, exaggerated, designed to carve deeper into Kazuha’s shattered heart. The Abyss Prince shoves you away, muttering something under his breath, but you laugh, spinning to meet Kazuha’s gaze.

“Did you think you were special?” you ask, your voice lilting with mockery. “That your poetry and promises could bind me to you? Oh, Kazuha, you were always chasing a storm you could never tame.”

Kazuha doesn’t respond, his crimson eyes fixed on yours with a quiet intensity. But the light in them has changed, twisted into something unrecognizable.

“You’ve lost,” you declare, turning away, but his voice stops you cold.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, his tone so calm it sends a chill down your spine.

You glance back, and the sight of him—the once-gentle warrior now smirking with a darkness that rivals your own—sends your pulse skittering.

“You think you’ve won,” he continues, his voice soft but deadly. “But this isn’t the end. It’s only the beginning.”

The Abyss guards move to haul him away, yet he doesn’t resist. His gaze remains locked on you, his smile growing as he speaks his final words.

“I’ll break you,” he says, his voice like a whispered promise carried on the wind. “Not with anger, not with hatred—but with love twisted into something you can’t escape. And when you’re mine, when you’re begging for the freedom you so carelessly destroyed, I’ll remind you of this moment. I’ll remind you who truly holds the chains.”

And as the shadows swallow him, his presence lingers, a storm on the horizon waiting to strike.

────────────

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General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[ultimate-chickennougat]

| Your Salaryman Husband | (Vol 6)

Vol 1 Vol 2 Vol 3 Vol 4 Vol 5 (Not Required) Vol 7 Vol 8 Vol 9

Salaryman!Kento x Housewife!Reader

Having lunch with Satoru Gojo...

Word Count: 1.6k

CW: SFW, domestic fluff, fem!Reader, Nanami's a bit rude, Gojo...

A/n: I hope I didn't fail Gojo's dialogue too bad, this volume has a bit more plot in it than usual. I'll keep it light next one.

Nanami, your perfect husband, never ceased to surprise you. You couldn’t imagine that a man like him, so perfect and loving, could not have friends. There was Ijichi, a former coworker that he checked in with on occasion, and Ieiri, another coworker that he insisted on be your doctor, but in general he was never one to stay out late to drink with his friends after work, or watch a sports game like other married men his age. He always reasoned, that there was no one he would rather spend time with than you, which was true of course. But still, it didn’t make sense. 

Now a salaryman, a senior manager at an investment company, you had met him when he was a Jujutsu Sorcerer, though he didn’t stay that way for long. Once the two of you started courting, he quickly decided to go back to his former position, something he was already considering before meeting you. For the longest time, you hadn’t met anyone from his past, though he never shied away from telling you anything you asked about.

Now what you didn’t know, was that there were other reasons for his reclusiveness. A great scar on his heart, you could say. Something that could never be healed, for it was formed by a monster.

That monster, was none other than Satoru Gojo, Nanami’s former upperclassman and fellow Jujutsu sorcerer. 

The sheer amount of pain inflicted upon Nanami every time he had to go within a kilometer radius of that man was something most people couldn’t imagine, who was so incredibly annoying that his own brain cells suffered substantially at the sound of his voice. The living being that just might have been his main reason for leaving Jujutsu High way back then. 

And that was the man you two were set to have lunch with, that afternoon. You hadn’t seen him since your wedding, where he was sitting in the front row, making sure to give Nanami a pat on the back before saying “I do.” He was happy to introduce himself, of course curious about the new Mrs. Nanami who had been kept far, far away from him, but the way Nanami was, he quickly hurried the bother away and swept you off your feet as soon as he could to enjoy the rest of the night. 

Your husband, Nanami, tried his hardest to be respectful to just about everyone, preferring to get work done and pay attention to more important things than those who bothered him. However when it came to Gojo, only the bitter honesty remained. He had no problem insulting that pest that called himself “the strongest”, which sadly he couldn’t deny. This was true when you tried to bring him up, asking about the man at the wedding while writing thank you notes to the guests. 

“Don’t mind him,” he said sternly, trying to avoid the topic - as the great perk of getting out of the Jujutsu world might just have been being done with Satoru Gojo, after all. A lifetime long break from that man. “In fact, I don’t think he even needs a card,” He smiled, holding up the envelope, about to rip it into shreds. 

“Of course he does, he gave us such a nice gift,” you muttered, snatching the envelope  back from his hands. That was about as far as you got when trying to bring him up. Nanami would always tell you everything you wanted to know, about his work and past life, and the same was true with Gojo. But something about the way that he scowled just at the thought of him had you wishing you hadn’t mentioned it at all. 

You were running around at home waiting for Nanami to get back, as per usual, though this time your struggle was quickly sweeping and vacuuming up a dropped glass. Reaching into the high cabinets in the kitchen, your apron had gotten snagged on a handle as you stepped down from the stepping stool. If only it had been a small spill, but the large glass jar flew out of your hands as you tried to not fall yourself, and landed, smashing into a million pieces directly in the middle of the kitchen floor. Glass pieces tucked into every nook and cranny of the kitchen and surrounding rooms. Then you heard the phone ring. Rushing to grab it, the unknown number didn’t phase you. Nanami’s work often sent calls to the home phone, after all. 

“Hello? This is the Nanami residence,” you spoke, holding the phone to your ear. “Good, I got the right number,” the voice sighed. “This is Satoru Gojo, Nanami’s coworker?” The voice who you now knew as Gojo waited for your reply. “Ah Mr. Gojo…” you took a few breaths, “Kento isn’t here right now, but he’ll be back in a few minutes.” “Oh he isn’t? That’s great… I mean fine, that’s fine. I don’t need him here.” Gojo let out a few laughs under his breath. “Actually, I was wondering if you two would like to meet up for lunch tomorrow. Theres this great new restaurant that opened up, and I haven’t seen either of you in a while. How does that sound?” He asked. “I’ll have to ask Nanami, though I doubt he’d be busy. I’m sure he would enjoy seeing you…” You let out a few giggles yourself, thinking about your stoic husband. Of course you didn’t want to upset him, but maybe he would enjoy meeting up with a coworker - and of course, you were awfully curious. 

“If you two have any conflicts, just let me know. I’ll make us a reservation anyways.” Gojo leafed through the menu, the sound audible through the phone. “Oh and they have mochi, that’ll be great,” he laughed, “It was good to talk to you, Y/n, I’ll see you later.” “Goodbye, Mr. Gojo,” you responded back, and the call was ended. 

In perfect timing, of course, the moment you got back to work, bending down to sweep up the glass mess on the floor, your husband walked up the front steps. You ran over to greet him, fixing your hair and removing your apron. “Welcome home darling,” you smiled as he opened the door. You took his briefcase and set it to the side of the door for him. “I… I broke some glass in the kitchen, I’ll go clean it up in a minute,” you started, as he looked you in the eyes. “And…” he stared, curious as to what you were so nervous about. “I received a phone call, from a coworker of yours, or should I say former coworker?” part of you wanted to change the subject. “I see… and does this coworker have a name?” he asked, taking a seat on the couch. 

“Mr. Gojo gave a call, actually.” Nanami’s hands clenched, the veins showing down from his knuckles. “He invited us to lunch tomorrow, isn’t that nice?” 

And that is how you ended up in the car, with a very bothered husband on a nice Saturday afternoon. The restaurant was in a nice quiet part of the city, just a few miles away. Threading your fingers together as you sat in the passengers seat, the annoyance was clear on Nanami’s face. “I’m sorry, Kento, but he already made the reservation… I would feel bad to cancel,” he let out a small grunt, gripping the steering wheel. “I’m not mad at you, Y/n, it’s that stupid-” he moved his hand to hold onto yours as he breathed. “Please don’t take anything he says seriously, my love,” you smiled, glad to know he wasn’t mad at you, his humor still coming through. 

After checking in with the waiter, the two of you were led to an outdoor table. “I’m surprised you didn’t show up in a t-shirt,” the two of you sat down as Nanami glared at the man before him. “Of course not, I am meeting with my favorite couple, you know.” Gojo sneered back. “I don’t see why you always ignore me nowadays, Nanami, are we not friends?” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Y/n, look at the menu, it has some great sandwich options,” Nanami pointed to the paper in front of him, as Gojo whined, being ignored. 

“To be honest I’ve moved on from all of that,” the food was getting served as Nanami and Gojo continued their conversation. “That kind of work isn’t for everyone,” Nanami explained, eying the ham and cheese sandwich before him. “And Y/n, is he treating you well?” Gojo asked, giving a look to Nanami. “Yes, of course, he’s wonderful,” you responded shyly, the question catching you off guard. “I don’t know how you got that number anyway, but I know Y/n was quite interested in meeting you,” he smirked at you, his nerves having calmed down quite a bit. “Has he met your expectations?” you thought about it for a moment. “Yes, any friend of yours is a friend of mine. By the way, thank you so much for the gift Mr. Gojo,” he smiled back at you. “That toaster is top of the line, it’s got a ton of extra settings so you can use it on more than sliced bread,” you laughed, taking a sip of water from your glass. 

“Anyways, I hope we can do this again, hmm?” Gojo asked, having paid the bill. Nanami looked at you, rolling his eyes. “If we must, then sure,” he responded, grabbing your hand to walk out of the building. “By the way, how is it that my upperclassman is so far behind? I’d think you’d at least have some prospects…” Nanami pretended to ponder, watching Gojo’s face turn into a frown. Thus concluded your first real meeting with one of Nanami’s friends, an interesting experience forever ingrained into your mind.

[elicathebunny]

How to stay positive despite the situation.

Life is hard, nobody said life was easy. People who claim life as easy have benefited from those who have endured hardships or surpassed their own.

But then questions arise: how does one achieve an "easy" life? How can people live their lives as if they have selected what difficulty level to play, yet mine seems to be automatically set to the hardest one?

Positivity is a learned habit for those who are not used to being in that mindset.

HABITS: The more often you repeat the new action, the stronger and more efficient these neural networks become. This reorganising and strengthening of connections between neurons is called neuroplasticity, and in the case of building habits – long-term potentiation. Each time you perform a new action while trying to form a habit, you need smaller cues or triggers to activate the same network of brain cells.

Being positive isn't easy when your situation is the complete opposite. But I believe that is the only way to survive a negative situation. When you are negative, you become a victim of your circumstance and nothing changes. How you think is how you perceive the world, whether true or not.

POSITIVITY THROUGHOUT.

First, Nix the Negative: Before you put positive thinking into practice, look for any negative thoughts that may be running through your mind. These include: A bad filter. Do you overlook the good things about a situation and get wrapped up in the negatives? For example, you enjoy a fun dinner out with friends, but the restaurant gets your bill wrong at the end of the night. You leave feeling annoyed and frustrated, forgetting about the good time you had. Taking the blame. Do you tend to take on the blame for something bad or disappointing that happens? For example, a friend declines an invitation from you, so you assume it’s because they don’t want to spend time with you. Predicting disaster. This means you have one setback and then expect the worst to happen. For example, your car won’t start in the morning, so you think the rest of your day is destined to be doomed. Black-and-white thinking. Do you see things as either good or bad, with no middle ground? In this mindset, if things aren’t perfect, they’re automatically bad.

Thinking positive is difficult when you are surrounded by everything the opposite. But if your mind is the same, how will you overcome it? It starts by making one change in your mind that can completely change your perspective on your circumstance. Remember that change doesn't have to be significantly big; it could be changing something simple, yet it could make a difference in your life.

CONSUME POSITIVITY.

Everything around you that you can change should be positive. Don't focus on anything you can't control just the things you can. Change the type of music you listen to, are the lyrics what you want to resonate with? Words are affirmations, or in other people's words are spells. What you say or what is said to you enough times will be embedded in you if said with enough emotion attached to it. Change

Change the words you use to talk to yourself or to talk to others. Do you participate in gossip? Do you talk down on yourself? What words do you use negatively when talking about yourself and can you catch yourself saying/thinking them in order to change them? Swap out negative thoughts with positive ones. I know it will sound phony when trying but keep trying until it replaces the old habit of self-negativity.

Cut off people who drain the positivity out of you, and if you can't physically remove them, don't engage in conversation with them unless you actually need to (work or school environments). Sometimes people don't get the memo even after distancing, this is when I'd just start ignoring them tbh (don't be rude about it, this is only when you've made it clear that you don't want to associate with them).

Love yourself from the inside. Don't just focus on the outside but really focus on your inner health. Are you drinking enough water? Are you eating well? Do you socialise enough or are you isolating yourself? Are you spending enough time alone or are you over-socialising? Are you lacking anything in your body that you can replenish through supplements or changing your diet? Are you moving enough? Are you resting enough and getting the needed amount of sleep for your age range? Are you overworking yourself? Are you being too kind to yourself and not pushing yourself enough? Do you know your body? Do you go outside enough? Do you have a self-care routine or time throughout the day or week to dedicate to yourself? Do you take care of your hygiene?

Feeling good inside is how you can attempt to change what's happening outside. You can't attempt to better your situation if you don't feel like you can. If you feel like crap obviously you're not going to achieve what you aspire to do.

Being positive all the time is not going to happen. Your not going to be happy all the time because that's not human. But learning how you can make your self happier and how not to be stuck in a rut is good to know.

[delulustateofmind]

Okay so like, this is going to be a long one but I’ve been dying to know more and more and I just need to keep asking because the lore is crazy addictive lol. So in “it’s all your fault, isn’t it?” Does reader ends up becoming indifferent? Empty, broken, whatever you want to call it, is it like she’s not really there anymore? You know when sometimes they present mentally sick woman in films as those unresponsive detached ones. I wonder if she’s like that. I imagine her becoming numb as you’ve mentioned, but to the point she doesn’t even talk or do anything besides sitting around and staring into space. Could you get a little into explaining how do you think she behaves in the years after the accident?

Also, how do Satoru and Suguru react? Are they worried about her or more about the fact she’s not really interested in them anymore? Or do they mostly focus on each other and just want her around as a broodmare (I recall someone using this term haha). Did she stop loving them at some point? And are they craving her love? It makes me wonder that if she in fact goes completely indifferent does it make them desperate for her to show some type of affection. Lastly (I’m sorry for such a long ask and so many questions 😭) do you think Satoru and Suguru would fight/blame each other for it? Or once again, do they think she’s the problem.

I have so many questions considering this trilogy it’s honestly my favorite of yours and I want to know every little detail I hope it’s not too much! Thank you for your work🙏🏼

It’s never too much! I’m so glad you like it enough to keep asking <3 If you want to crawl into my noggin and explore all the silly lore files, that’s totally okay. I’ll just place you right next to the thoughts of silly Calico Critters and Smiskis by the one brain cell.

Anyway…

Yeah, she would become really, really numb after that. To the point where they actually have her medicated for depression. It helps a little, but she’s not going back to her regular self, even if they have one or two more kids. Reader becomes way too afraid of getting attached, of even thinking a negative thought (though, honestly, it’s not like a curse would survive long in the Gojo compound). She’s more detached and numb to the world than anything.

Satoru does his best to make her laugh, even taking her and the kids to Disneyland. She just gave him a small smile and a kiss on the cheek. This behavior hits Satoru the hardest because he saw Reader from the very beginning as this happy, cheerful person, and now she’s become so obedient and docile. But he doesn’t say anything. For one, he’s emotionally constipated, and for two, Suguru looks happy.

For Suguru, he’s much more content with this version of Reader. He likes how you’re more attuned to his touches now—how he can just pull you onto his lap, and you snuggle right in. Sure, there’s a difference, but for him, he prefers this. He describes it as you being “more at peace,” even though it’s really just numbness. He’d take that over the nights where you were shouting at him to let you leave, or when you were constantly trying to escape. Now, you’re like a tamed cat in his eyes, and he didn’t even have to resort to unsavory methods to get there.

Sure, they know you don’t love them, but you’re no longer indifferent to their love. You just… accept it. They can pull reactions out of you during sex; they can hold you whenever they please. You’re not as snappy anymore. With the medication, you’re more loopy than anything, and sometimes, you even show an ounce of a smile in that state. Satoru likes to watch you sleep when he gets the chance because, in those moments, he sometimes sees your real smile. You seem more at peace there.

(Sorry, I’m rambling at this point.)

There’s no real blame, at least not between Satoru and Suguru. The kids, though, blame their mother for turning out this way and see her as sick now. They end up with some serious mommy issues. Satoru doesn’t blame Suguru—he knows they’re both equally at fault for this. Ultimately, though, they’re just happy you’re no longer fighting them. They’d rather have you numb and peaceful than fighting them constantly and crying all the time.

Hope that helps! If you have more questions, feel free to send them my way—they’re always welcome <3

[writerscafehub]

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀: 𝐋𝐢𝐳

@avengers-resident-idiot

From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

About a 3 I think, I hav𖤓 liz 𖤓en’t written anything in a while because I’ve been busy with work and school. I struggle with actually finishing anything, I swear my drafts is a graveyard of WIPs. Once I get done with my finals I plan to actually try and sit down and actually write a fic or at the very least headcanons

2. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

I feel like my writing is very self indulgent, I fantasize for literal days or weeks about what I personally would want to happen and imagine myself as the reader in the fic and just run with it. I have tried a few times to write an idea that a friend gives me and I just struggle cause I get stuck in my own head wondering if I’m writing it how they personally would want it.

3. Are there any writers that inspire you?

Literally everybody in the server, the fact that y'all are so imaginative and are so motivated to write fics on a consistent basis never fails to amaze me, I am on my knees begging for a crumb of the kind of motivation y’all got. 

4. What’s the fic you’re most proud of? 

Honestly probably the very first fic I ever wrote, which was a Zayn Malik fanfiction (I was a HUGE One Direction fan…honestly I still am). It was terrible, and so ridiculously cringey but to middle school me, I was the next Shakespeare  and was just proud that I actually wrote something and put it on the internet for the world to see and I regret nothing. 

5. Which character(s) do you find easiest to write and which do you find most difficult to write? 

The easiest is probably Peter Parker cause he’s such a sassy little shit and I love him. The hardest is probably Dr. Spencer Reid, I’ve tried before and I just can’t get his mannerisms right. 

6. Who or what do you find yourself writing about most?

I feel like my most of my wips are friends to lovers with misunderstandings galore 

7. Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about!

I’ve been planning this fic out in my head for the past month, idk for sure what I’m gonna call it, but it’s gonna be an Evan “Buck” Buckley x reader fic, I’m considering adding Eddie Diaz into the mix cause honestly it’s what we deserve. Basically the reader is going to open up a bakery across from the fire station and our lovely firefighters can’t resist the smell of warm bread and coffee in the morning so they go and meet Reader (considering giving her a nickname) who is dancing to 80’s music and may or may not be covered in flour, and from there hijinks, first dates, and love confessions ensue. 

8. First fandom you ever wrote for?

One Direction and I regret nothing

9. Any guilty pleasure trope(s)?

Ooo  misunderstandings that can be easily resolved if they JUST TALK, found family tropes almost always make me cry, fake dating never fails to make me laugh because the characters never think it through and I love that for them with that being said idiots to lovers is another big one, especially if they share exactly one brain cell. 

10. A trope you’ll never, ever write for.

Probably anything dark, nothing wrong with dark fics, I just don’t think I’d ever be able to write a dark fic well enough where it was actually understandable or good for that matter.

11. Wildest fic you’ve ever written?

Another One Direction fanfiction, but this time Liam Payne, it's since been deleted but basically gang leader!Liam and the reader were highschool sweethearts and broke up cause Liam betrayed her, if i remember right he gets her brother arrested? Years later she comes back to town and is part of an all girls gang and Liam's gang (One Direction) start fighting over territory, there were drunken confessions, a secret child, and attempted kidnappings and literally every other chapter one of them almost died. Middle school me was very proud of it.

12. Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)

Steve Rogers x innocent!reader, knight!Bucky x princess!Reader, Evan “Buck” Buckley x reader

13. Do you listen to anything while you write?

Yes, I have so many playlists, everytime I get an idea for a fic I run to Spotify and immediately create a new one and add songs that fit the vibe I’m going for, doesn’t matter what genre or language so long as I think it fits it gets added to the playlist.

14. One-shots or multi-chaptered works?

Definitely both, I am not picky whatsoever. 

15. Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them!

Omg yes, I honestly think this is part of the reason it’s so hard for me to finish writing anything. The second I get a new idea for a fic I start imagining all sorts of different scenarios I could put them in like trips to the zoo, grocery shopping or like the same scenes from the fic, but from another character's point of view. Even if it’s not going to be part of the fic I imagine what the proposal would be like, what their vows would be, or how they'd react to their first child being born. My mind goes a hundred miles a minute when I get a new idea, but the second I sit down to write it out poof all the ideas are gone.

16. Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

Honestly smut. There are so many talented writers out there who do a great job at writing smut, but whenever I try it just comes out to stiff and doesn’t sound write, so I always end up deleting it 

17. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

I was once told I was very good at descriptions, they said they could picture the night sky in their mind and it was like they were there. 

18. Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

Eh not really, I usually stick to fluff, humor and slight angst, I want to try step out of my comfort zone by writing smut, but it’ll be a while before I post anything 

19. Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst?

Oh my gosh how could I possibly choose, most of the time it just depends what kind of mood I’m in but lately it’s been tooth-rotting fluffy with a tiny bit of angst mixed in

20. Do you have any OCs? Tell us about them!

At this point in time I do not have any oc’s, but I’m considering creating one for my Evan “Buck” Buckley fic. 

21. If you could enter the universe of any one of your fics, which would it be and why?

Probably my WIP Knight!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader because who wouldn’t want to be protected by an extremely handsome Bucky who acts like you're a nuisance, but would do anything to protect you no questions asked if ever necessary?? And also I just love the idea of running down a castle hallway at night wearing a floor length ball gown.

22. Is there anything you wish your audience knew about your writing or writing process?

Just that my process involves creating the perfect playlist for that specific fic and tons of daydreaming, and while it may take me a long time to finally finish writing, I’m always excited to share it and get feedback!

23. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of. 

This is from my knight!Bucky Barnes x Princess!reader wip                            

“Do you think I am inadequate because I am a female, my Lord? Is that what you’re saying? You think that I am unfit to rule because I'm a little emotional right now?  Well you’re right, I am a little emotional right now. From the moment I was born, it was known that I, and I alone, would be next in line to assume the throne. My entire life was spent preparing for the moment that my reign would begin and I intend to use all the knowledge my father, may God rest his soul, taught me.  Just two weeks ago I watched as they lowered my father’s cold, dead body into the ground and not a week later a crown was placed atop my head…. a crown I thought my father would be giving me.  I am emotional because right now at this very moment there are rebels out there, only God knows where, hatching plans to storm this castle! This castle has stood here for 300 hundred years and I intend for it to stand for many more. I refuse to let the rebels take my country and everything that my family has worked for.  Now, we have much more pressing matters to deal with than your fragile egos, don’t you think my Lords?”

24. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

Have fun with writing! Don’t worry about whether or not the idea you want to write has been written before because it most definitely has been, but it’s never been written by you! 

I’m excited to finally be done with my classes and I hope to to write more and post my fics throughout the summer! 

[thelaisydazy]

The Banshee Calls - Chapter 1

John "Soap" MacTavish x Aoife "Banshee" Finny

Next Chapter

One year ago, Johnny woke up in a hospital room, his mind foggy and his head throbbing with pain. He’d been confused, lost.

His lieutenant had been waiting with him that day, shocked but relieved. No one thought he would ever wake up, ever recover. Johnny couldn’t remember Ghost ever sounding so worried in the years they’d known each other. That’s how he knew just how fucked he was.

The last thing he remembered was storming an underground metro to intercept a bomb set by Vladimir Makarov, a Russian ultranationalist hellbent on starting another world war. Him and the rest of the 141 had been hot on his trail. Soap had been working on disarming the bomb with Captain Price when they were face-to-face with Makarov and his men. It had been a short firefight but when Soap pulled Makarov off Price, everything went black.

Now he was sitting in hospital, hooked up to a series of machines that beeped every so often. Ghost had told Soap he'd been shot in the head, somehow not only surviving but avoiding major brain damage. Nothing short of a miracle.

Johnny had wanted Ghost to joke about him not missing many brain cells, but the seriousness in Ghost's voice betrayed how difficult the situation was.

Soap spent months recovering in hospital, being run through test after test. He'd feared that he'd be forced to retire after all, but by some stroke of luck, he'd been told he could, eventually, return to service.

Or so they said…

---

His mind swam as he sat in the tiny, dark kitchen of the shitty apartment he’d been given by Laswell, somewhere in a city in Ireland. Johnny’s hand gripped a half full bottle of scotch, bringing it to his lips and gulping more down. He was disheveled to say the least, brown mohawk grown out and unbrushed, blue eyes sunken in.

Six months.. He’d been waiting to hear from his team for six months.. Instead he’d been left to rot in this damned apartment. He’d tried everything to reach out, to get any information. Laswell rarely checked in and when she did it was basically only to make sure he was still alive and that the apartment was still in one piece. For a while Ghost answered his texts, even a phone call or two when Johnny really needed someone to talk to, but even he’d grown silent.

A hand came up and pushed his unkempt hair from his forehead then it wiped down his tear stained face, over the stubble that had overgrown in the past few weeks.

Johnny wasn’t certain of much anymore, but he knew one thing must be true. He’d been abandoned by his team.

One bullet to the skull and he was thrown out.

Useless.. Fucking useless..

His chest ached at the idea. Sure, being a soldier was never easy work. Hell. It was the hardest work he could've found, but he'd grown to love it. In the military, Johnny could focus that abundance of buzzing energy into something worthwhile. Something meaningful. Now. Here. That same energy had nowhere to go. It just sat inside him, like a wild animal lashing out against the bars of its cage.

He gulped down more Scotch. Alcohol made the energy in his chest quieter, but it didn't muffle it completely. He could still feel it, but it was more bearable. Even if he felt like his chest might implode with every heaving sob that forced its way out.

---

“You look like shit, Soap,” Kate Laswell’s voice stirred him from where he’d passed out on the couch. She dropped a plastic bag on his coffee table with a deafening crash that made him groan through his hangover.

Johnny glared at her through narrowed blue eyes. “Some nerve ye git..” he slurred. He hauled himself into a sitting position that made his stomach lurch, still watching Kate. “Ain't heard fae na yin in weeks 'n' ye juist let yersel' in? Gang bile yer heid, Laswell.”

“Johnny.” Kate’s voice was firm and her gaze dangerous. She pointed to the bag she’d brought in with her. “Eat something and sober up. I have news and a job for you.”

He snatched up the bag and opened it to see some greasy fries that buried an equally greasy burger. He all too quickly shoved a handful of fries into his mouth. “Leid wi' that then..” he mumbled between mouthfuls of food.

Kate Laswell was quiet, standing across the littered living room as Johnny ate. He was in poor shape, he hardly looked like himself. “We have a lead on Makarov,” she said, making the man nearly choke on his food, a flash of anger in his eyes. “We're sending you after him.”

“How come me?” Johnny asked, straightening up and looking at her from his spot on the couch. “I been out for six months..”

“Everyone thinks you're dead,” she said. Kate had always been straight forward in the way she spoke. “We're setting you up with a reconnaissance specialist. You two are going undercover.”

Johnny thought for several moments as he chewed. Gaz and Roach were far from recon specialists and Captain Price was too well known to go undercover. That only left Ghost, but Johnny doubted Laswell and Price would send Ghost on an undercover operation. He had to wonder who he was being set up with.

“You're leaving in a few days,” Kate said, reaching into a bag she was carrying with her. She placed a manila folder on the table in front of Johnny. “Everything you need to know about your new identity and your mission is here. Familiarize yourself with it.”

Johnny wiped his hands on his sweats, picking up the folder. He rifles through its contents. Makarov was hiding out in America, some trashy little suburb outside of Hollywood. Ties to human trafficking. The idea made Johnny's blood boil.

“Where'd ye git a' this from?” Johnny asked, turning another page. There was plenty of information on what was being done to the poor girls being brought into Makarov's sick business venture in America, but not much on how they got there or where Makarov himself was. “Sick bastard…”

His eyes then landed on a piece of paper containing his new identity. His new name and life story. Neil MacBride.. At least they didn’t expect him to hide his accent.

“Corporal Banshee's been hard at work,” Kate answered.

Johnny looked up at that. “Banshee?” The word brought back memories, sitting with his grandmother listening to all the stories she liked to tell. The legends and myths of the isles. Banshees were probably one of the scariest things she told him about, the way they wailed and screeched.

“She's been undercover for the last few months gathering intel,” Kate continued, stepping closer. “She's expecting Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish on this, she's worked too hard to have the operation go under now. So clean up your act and get it together.”

Johnny nodded. Laswell was right, he needed to get back on his feet for this job. “What else can ye tell me ‘bout the Banshee?”

“Irish Special Forces, ARW, Corporal Banshee's young but she's a force to be reckoned with,” Laswell said. “Works mostly in reconnaissance these days. She's currently posing as security in one of the clubs Makarov's hiding out in.”

Johnny frowned. “No name?”

“You've worked with Ghost, Sergeant.”

He couldn't argue with that, though he knew Ghost's name, it took time, but he knew his lieutenant’s name and face. Certainly the old MacTavish charm would work on an Irish lass working in America.

“I'll just have tae git her to open tae me lik’ Ghost,” he beamed. This was the first time in months he'd felt like himself. Even if it was work, Johnny was ready to get back into action.

---

“Fuck’s sake, m’ apartment is still in one piece, yeah?”

Kate Laswell sat in her office, eyes fixed on the screen of her laptop. The tiny monitor showed a young woman. She had a slim face and black hair that cascaded over her shoulders, a pair of white streaks framing her face.

“Soap’s apologized,” Kate lied. “Thank you again for loaning us the space to hide him.”

Laswell knew the young woman was on edge with a soldier she didn't know staying in her personal apartment. It was the easiest way to make sure Soap would stay, mostly, out of trouble. Drinking problem notwithstanding.

The young woman on the other end, shifted on her couch, tilting her head like she was looking around. Kate could barely see the tattoos that peeked out from the high collar of her shirt. She turned a pair of stormy blue eyes back to her screen.

“Only fur you, Watcher. Thankfully I didnae have anything there anyway.”

Kate smiled gently at the soft Irish accent coming from her speakers. “He’ll be out of there soon enough,” she said. “Three days and he's on site with you.” Laswell adjusted in her own seat briefly. “Just remember, you may have put in the legwork on this, but he does outrank you.”

“Copy that Watcher,” the young woman said. “I'll keep it tight. Professional. Just make sure he's sober, I have a hard enough time here wi’ Americans thinking all I do is drink, aye?”

“Soap's good,” Laswell said, though she had her own doubts. Johnny had looked a mess when she arrived. “I made sure he dumped the last of that Scotch before I left.”

The young woman nodded. “I been putting in word ‘bout a cousin comin’ tae visit me soon,” she said. “Gonnae see ‘bout getting him a job in th’ club wi’ me. Far as those bastards know, he’s recently divorced ‘n’ lookin’ fur a fresh start in th’ states.”

“Good, we don’t need any trouble getting him inside,” Kate said. She looked at the time on her laptop. “Almost time for you to get back to work. Stay safe and report back in the morning.”

“Roger Watcher.”

“Goodnight Banshee.”

[tumbleweed-palmer]

jimmy x reader (timeline around when abby was still in the show) reader finds out she's pregnant after her and jimmy struggling for almost a year, she waits until shes 12 weeks and certain they are safe and she reveals it to jimmy and then they tell the team!

Some content warning: mentions of past miscarriage and pregnancy related things.

I got a tiny bit angsty, so this may be more emotional hurt/comfort I hope it's everything you wanted anon.

-----

Stronger Together

If anyone asked Y/N what she considered the most important element in a relationship to be, she would most likely answer trust. If you didn’t have trust you didn’t have anything. Once trust was broken you could try your hardest to put it back together, but you would always see the cracks.

When trust was broken in a relationship, the relationship itself was broken. 

She hadn’t always been fortunate enough to have trust in past relationships. More often than not she’d had her trust in her romantic partners shattered. Needless to say these experiences had taught her to appreciate the importance of trust.

If anyone were to ask her who she trusted the most in this world, she would easily answer without hesitation that the person she trusted above all was James “Jimmy” Palmer.

Jimmy Palmer was her soulmate. She had a deep sense of trust in him and he had a deep sense of trust in her.

She could say without any hesitation that there were no secrets between them. They had a tendency to tell one another everything.  

Jimmy liked to joke that it was a part of their wedding vows, the promise to tell one another everything. He wasn’t being serious of course.

Being so open with one another was just an understanding they’d always had.

Trust was just as meaningful to Jimmy as it was to Y/N. He’d had his trust broken before and it hurt. Jimmy had gone through a fair bit of having his trust broken in a previous relationship prior to meeting Y/N. He had openly admitted to Y/N that he couldn’t tolerate secrets and dishonesty especially in a relationship. 

That was why these past seven weeks had been so difficult.

She’d carried around a constant immense sense of guilt these past seven weeks. She’d been keeping such a huge secret and telling the occasional white lie to hide her secret.

She had wanted to admit the truth and say the words a million times now, but fear and anxiety kept a tight grip on her tongue. A voice in the back of her brain insisted that it was just too risky to tell him just yet.

She could distinctly remember the day she’d come to the realization that she had no choice but to keep a secret from her husband.

Y/N felt her stomach churn as she stared down at her watch before staring up at the analog clock on the wall in the lab and then down at the timer she’d set on her cell phone.

This was the longest ten minutes of her life. Though if she wanted to be technical about it, this was technically going to take longer than ten minutes. It was just ten minutes at the most for each test. There was more than one test which meant that not every test was set to show results at exactly ten minutes on the dot. 

She couldn’t keep it to just one single test. She needed to have a wide range of results from multiple tests. She was a scientist through and through and had purchased multiple tests for the best comparison in her results. 

Taking the tests had been more complicated than she’d assumed it would be. She knew that she must have looked absolutely out of her mind squatting over the toilet in the women’s room across from the lab holding multiple pregnancy tests in her hands attempting to shuffle them as she did all she could to to pee on one test after the other all in one go. 

Any reasonable person would have waited to tackle this venture in the security of their own home.

She knew she didn’t have much of a choice though, but to take care of this at work.

She was quite certain her husband would take notice if she disappeared in the bathroom for quite a while with a jug of water and a plastic shopping bag from the local pharmacy.

So, she’d taken a more secretive option. She’d waited until Abby took her lunch break before she’d slipped into the bathroom with a bag full of pregnancy tests discreetly hidden in her purse after she’d chugged the biggest bottle of juice she could find in the vending machine.

She’d taken care of business in the bathroom before slipping back into the lab heading to the area where Abby and she kept their desks knowing that it would offer a little privacy in case anyone happened to wander into the lab.

She had a feeling that no one would interrupt her in the lab. It was a remarkably slow day. So there was little chance of anyone wandering into the lab.

She just hoped that it wasn’t as slow in Autopsy as it was in the lab. 

The last thing she needed was her husband walking in on this.

She couldn’t help but to feel guilty for being so secretive about this. It was just that she couldn’t take putting the man she loved through the disappointment of what would most likely turn out to be yet another negative pregnancy test.  

She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t being secretive. If anything she was doing this out of love. She was trying to protect her husband from yet another crushing letdown.

There had been so many pregnancy tests over the past year. There had been so many disappointments and crushed senses of hope as they’d endured negative test after negative test.

They’d falsely believed that this would be so easy. Each negative pregnancy test proved though that this was much more difficult than they’d ever considered.

It had been one year now, one long year of trying and failing to start their family.

With as much time as they’d devoted to trying to get pregnant, Y/N was almost surprised that sex hadn’t begun to feel like a chore. After all, when one spent so much time having sex for the explicit purpose of conceiving a child, it seemed as though it would be quite easy for intimacy to feel less like an act of love and more like a job.

Jimmy had always done all he could to consistently remind her that focusing too hard on the end result they were hoping for would most likely place too much pressure on themselves and lessen their chances of conceiving. After all, if they were both stressed and so hyper focused on getting pregnant it would most likely make intimacy less of an enjoyable act and more of a means to an end. 

He’d tried so hard to keep things light and playful during their intimate moments. He’d tried hard to keep her in the moment and not so focused on what they were trying to achieve.

She would be lying though if she tried to pretend that their sex lives hadn’t become a little over technical at times. They’d tried a few unconventional things that they’d read just might increase their odds of conceiving. Though they’d doubted the validity of some of these things, they’d begun to get desperate in these past few months.

They’d tried propping her hips up on a pillow and holding her legs up after sex hoping that gravity would do its job.

They’d tried a few positions that they had read might help them conceive as it might help them achieve deeper penetration. Though they’d definitely read that there was little evidence to support that certain positions increased the odds of conceiving.  

They’d taken so many ovulation tests, She was almost sure they should purchase stock in the companies that manufactured the things. 

They’d scheduled sex around her ovulation cycle though that hadn’t always been easy with their schedules. They’d tried so hard to make sure that they didn’t miss out on taking advantage of her most fertile days even if they were only able to manage sleepy half paced sex after a long day at work. 

They’d reduced their caffeine intake and tried to eat as healthily as possible.

They’d tried so hard to keep their stress levels down, though it wasn’t easy in either of their careers.

Jimmy had even maybe awkwardly tried to casually ask Dr. Mallard if during any of his extensive medical training he’d possibly read any studies on increasing odds of conception…it was a conversation that Jimmy was sure he’d add to his top ten most awkward social interactions of all time. After all there wasn’t a way one could approach the question without it being clear that the question wasn’t purely for advancement of Jimmy’s medical knowledge. Especially considering their careers focused on the end of life and not the creation of life.

Needless to say despite their best efforts to conceive Jimmy and Y/N had fallen into a cycle of trying so hard to conceive, getting their hopes up, and having their hopes crushed.

Y/N was beginning to feel despondent over the entire process.

She was frustrated by her body’s lack of cooperation. 

She wanted to have a baby with Jimmy Palmer so badly she couldn’t stand it, but her body just wouldn’t seem to get with the program.

She had no doubt that Jimmy at times was equally as frustrated with his body’s lack of cooperation. However, he was so focused on trying to be the eternal optimist that he tried to hide his frustration.

It was something she both adored and hated about him. He was optimistic and so positive, but at times that positivity didn’t feel as comforting as he seemed to intend. It felt like he was burying his head in the sand and ignoring the cold hard truth that they were no closer to getting pregnant than they’d been when they’d started this venture 12 months before.

Y/N of course felt guilty for being so frustrated with his optimism. 

She loved him so much. It had been love at first sight.

She’d been hired by Abby to work as her assistant, a job she’d been told she should feel blessed to have given Abby’s past resistance to any assistance in the lab.

Y/N had been introduced to Jimmy within her first week at NCIS and she’d been unable to deny that he was incredibly cute and sweet too. He had sort of a bashful nerdy charm to him. She’d liked him more than she wanted to admit, and of course she’d felt foolish for developing a schoolgirl crush on him.

She’d hoped that the crush would fade, but it had only grown as the months had gone by. She’d tried so hard to focus on keeping any romantic feelings at bay, but it wasn’t easy. She had discovered so many things to like about Jimmy Palmer. Jimmy was funny, sweet, intelligent, empathetic, braver than anyone gave him credit for, and passionate about his job. 

It was hard to deny that her feelings for him went far beyond just coworkers who were developing a budding friendship. Of course neither had wanted to admit that their friendship often at times bordered on being quite flirty.

Abby had pointed out that Jimmy seemed sweet on Y/N numerous times, but Y/N had always laughed the claims off, unable to believe that a catch like Jimmy Palmer was even interested. She never had luck with guys. She never attracted guys who were equally attractive, kind, and intelligent. She’d joked she only ever got two out of the three but never the total package.

A night out with the rest of the NCIS crew had changed everything. A guy had gotten too handsy with Y/N obviously making her uncomfortable. Though she’d humored the guy at first and even allowed him to buy her a drink and attempt to show her how to play darts. She’d quickly grown tired of his attentions as they’d begun to become less flirty and more aggressive.

Jimmy had taken her by surprise as he’d come to her rescue. She’d been unaware that he’d maybe been keeping an eye on her the entire night trying to pretend that he wasn’t jealous that some guy was showing her attention. When it had become obvious that she wasn’t comfortable he couldn’t stand by and watch any longer. 

Though most people would believe that Jimmy wasn't the most intimidating guy on the planet, he’d managed to hold his own and use his height to his advantage.

Jimmy had taken Y/N outside to get some fresh air after the entire ordeal and it had brought up an awkward conversation where a few confessions had been made between the two.

She could still remember what Jimmy had said when he’d spilled the beans about his apparent romantic feelings towards her.

“I know you can defend yourself, but I couldn’t stand by and watch someone disrespect you like that.”

He’d paused the words coming out before he could stop them. “To be honest even if the guy had been respectful, I don’t really think I could stand by all night and watch him hit on you without it feeling awful…I guess what I’m trying to say is maybe I want to be the guy who buys you drinks and plays darts with you…I wouldn’t be opposed to taking you to dinner too.”

He’d spoken again of course after the words had left him repeatedly apologizing claiming he felt like he was taking advantage of a moment when she might be feeling vulnerable and insisting he didn’t intend to make a move on her at a totally inappropriate time. He just tended to speak before thinking sometimes.

She had shut him up with a kiss to the lips and a reassurance that he was being far from inappropriate given she wasn’t quite sure she could stand by and watch some girl hit on him.

That night had led to a first date the following night and a relationship. The relationship had led to a proposal from Jimmy, a small intimate wedding ceremony, and a happy marriage.

They were ready to start a family, but it seemed that it was easier said than done.

Y/N sighed as her cell phone timer finally went off for the final time signaling that the final pregnancy test was ready to view.

She stared down at the tests anticipating another let down.

She felt the breath leave her body as she found herself not staring down at the usual selection of negative test results.

She reached down with shaking hands reading the instructions over and over again comparing them to the tests the realization of what she was looking at soaking in.

Positive, the tests were positive. She was pregnant.

She felt the tears meet her eyes at the realization that they’d done it. They’d finally done it.

As soon as the joy hit the fear had begun to creep in.

A big part of the frustration Jimmy and Y/N felt from their lack of success conceiving had been fueled by an event that they’d endured not long after they’d returned from their honeymoon.

This wasn’t their first positive pregnancy test. Not long after they’d come home from their honeymoon Y/N had a late period and they’d taken a pregnancy test not expecting much. It had been positive.

They’d been ecstatic. They’d called everyone immediately after they’d gotten the confirmation that the test wasn’t a false positive. They’d told their families, their friends, and their coworkers. Abby had even teamed up with Ducky to throw them a congratulations party at work. 

As soon as the joy had set in, tragedy had followed.

Nothing could have prepared Y/N from waking up in the middle of the night with painful cramps and discovering that she was lying in a pool of her own blood.

The word had sounded so ugly when it had left the doctor’s mouth; miscarriage. 

It had felt like the world was closing in on her as she sat in the emergency room taking in the bad news. She could barely concentrate on the doctor’s reassurance that she was perfectly healthy and had done nothing wrong. She couldn’t find comfort in reassurance that this loss wouldn’t impact her ability to become pregnant again. She couldn’t focus on the explanation that the fetus was most likely nonviable and her body had spontaneously miscarried. Reassurances that this often happened to many women didn’t mean a thing to Y/N. 

All she could focus on was the horrifying realization that her baby was gone. 

She’d felt even worse as she’d turned her head to look at her husband. Jimmy looked as though someone had just told him the world was ending. He looked like he’d been punched in the gut. 

His eyes had met hers and the tears had come. 

She could still remember the words he’d murmured to her as he’d taken her in his arms and rocked her against him. He’d tried so hard to be strong for her even though he was hurting too “Oh my love, I know. I have you, I’m here. I know, just let it all out. I know. I’m so sorry.”

She’d only been able to cry against him the words so desperate. “Our baby is gone. It’s not fair. I wanted it.”

He’d stroked her back the words leaving him his voice cracking, he allowing himself to fall apart as well. “I wanted it too.”

Y/N felt an icy chill run down her spine at the memory. She stared down at the positive pregnancy tests, a realization hitting her.

It had taken them so long to feel ready to try for a baby again. They’d tried so hard to make this happen. What if she miscarried again? What if she got Jimmy’s hopes up that he was going to be a father only to take it away again? 

She couldn’t get Jimmy’s hopes up again. She couldn’t get everyone’s hopes up again. She wasn’t even sure she could manage to get her hopes up again. She couldn’t let everyone celebrate a new life when there was any chance that the life might be lost before they even got to bring it into the world.

She had to keep this to herself for now. She had to keep a secret from her husband.

It hadn’t been easy, keeping it to herself. She’d not told a soul no matter how badly she wanted to.

It was finally time to come clean though. These past seven weeks had passed. She was 12 weeks into her pregnancy and offically out of the danger zone.

She had to come clean and hope that everyone understood why she’d held it all in.

She tried to keep a brave face as she approached Autopsy, a gift bag clutched in her hand.

Jimmy’s lunch break was about to start and she knew she couldn’t wait until tonight to tell him. She’d waited long enough.

She tried to hide her anxiety hoping that Jimmy didn’t find anything amiss by her sudden visit to Autopsy.

She’d purposely avoided it lately due to nausea. Though to be honest the first trimester nausea was still hanging around. It wasn’t nearly as intense as it had been at least.

Hiding the symptoms of her pregnancy hadn’t been simple. Thankfully the first trimester had just been filled with exhaustion and the occasional bout of nausea. She had been able to convince everyone that she was just overworked and her immune system was probably struggling with the workload. No one had doubted or questioned her explanation.

She hadn’t brought up trying for a baby. Work had been pretty hectic lately. Jimmy and she made love but the discussion of conceiving hadn’t been brought up. Jimmy hadn’t questioned it thankfully. She was sure the guilt would have swallowed her whole if he had brought up conceiving not aware that they’d already succeeded. 

She’d even managed to have her first doctors appointment in secret writing it off as a normal gynecologist appointment when Jimmy had asked. It had been a guilt filled experience. 

She’d tried to silence her guilt telling herself that it was only one appointment and it had just been to confirm her pregnancy and reassure her that everything was normal and healthy. Jimmy would have plenty of appointments to attend with her for the remainder of this pregnancy.

She was relieved to find that there were no guests lying out on the autopsy tables as she entered the room.

Even if her nausea had lessened she wasn’t sure she could handle the gore at the moment.

Jimmy kissed her cheek thankfully not questioning her sudden appearance even if he did seem to be caught off guard by it.

“Ready for lunch?” She asked hoping that she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt.

“Yeah, I think I’m good to go. It’s actually been a pretty slow day. Dr. Mallard told me to take an early lunch break, but I wanted our lunches to sync up together.” Jimmy explained reaching into his scrubs pants pocket verifying that he did in fact have his wallet and his phone. 

He went to the coat rack Dr. Mallard kept in the corner of the room locating the laptop case he carried to work and finding his car keys.

Y/N let him take her hand in his thankful that he didn’t question the gift bag in her hand just yet.

They didn’t have to go far to get lunch given that there was a bistro not too far from NCIS headquarters. 

They did decide to get take out though knowing that the day was nice enough that they could most likely just sit outside of NCIS headquarters and take their time to enjoy lunch in the fresh air.

Y/N felt her throat grow tight as Jimmy finally acknowledged the gift bag she had placed beside her as they sat to eat. “What’s with the gift bag?”

“It’s kind of for you.” Y/N admitted taking a deep breath hoping that this was the best way to spill the beans to him. 

Jimmy widened his eyes taking a bite of his sandwich speaking between bites. “Why a gift for me? I’m pretty sure it’s not my birthday…right. I mean I know work’s been busy lately but I don’t think I missed my own birthday. I am also more than sure that it’s not Valentine's Day. I know it’s definitely not our anniversary because you would have killed me for getting this far into the day without me acknowledging that it’s our anniversary. So, what’s the occasion?”

Y/N took a deep breath picking up the bag handing it over to him. “It’s just better if you open it.”

He placed his sandwich down in his carry out box wiping his hands on a napkin before he took the gift bag.

He opened it peering down into the bag as he began to remove items.

He furrowed his brow as he stared down at the first item. He held up the book a look of confusion washing over his features “Winnie the Pooh?”

Y/N felt her throat grow tight as she nodded at the bag. “There’s more.”

He placed the book aside reaching back into the bag pulling out two more items staring down at them. The crochet booties were a pale yellow and if they weren’t enough to explain it the sonogram scan he was holding in his hand fully explained it.

He spoke his voice filled with disbelief as he struggled to place his words together. “I…you’re, we’re...”

He paused, taking a shaky breath. “You’re pregnant…how, when?”

���Twelve weeks…I’m twelve weeks.” Y/N explained her stomach in knots, unable to read his expression.

“How long have you known?” He asked, still staring down at the items in his hands, the sonogram seeming to capture most of his attention. 

“I knew at five weeks…I took a test…I took more than one test. The doctor confirmed it with the sonogram week seven.” She admitted the knots in her stomach were growing more and more furled and tight.

She continued to study him, his expression still so unreadable. 

Guilt began to cloud her mind a voice in the back of her brain claiming that he was upset with her that she’d kept this to herself for seven weeks. She’d excluded him from the first trimester. Her attempt to protect him had hurt him.

The tears begin to set in guilt becoming overwhelming. She spoke, babbling her voice breaking as she frantically tried to wipe her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry”.

Jimmy took her by surprise pulling her against him holding her against him. Jimmy shifted both items he’d been holding to one hand using his free hand to rub her back. “Slow down, take a breath. Just slow down and breathe, my love.”

She tried to to follow his advice the guilt shoving her into a full blown panic attack. He continued to rub her back his voice soft. “Twelve weeks.”

She spoke her voice weepy the guilt still hanging over her. “I wanted to tell you a thousand times. I was just so scared.”

“Scared of what?” Jimmy asked his voice thankfully not harsh though her mind insisted she deserved it.

She felt her throat grow tight, deciding to just spill it all out. “I kept thinking back to the last time.” 

Jimmy furrowed his brow, taking him a moment to realize what she meant by the last time. 

She spoke again, her voice still weepy. “I kept thinking about how you looked that night in the ER. You were trying so hard to be strong for me, but you were hurting too. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. After we miscarried I did a lot of research into it…I’m a scientist. Research is what I do. A small percentage of women experience multiple miscarriages. It’s a small percentage, but it happens. I just kept thinking about how much trouble we’ve had conceiving when it was so easy to get pregnant the first time. I was afraid that it’s all my body…that there’s something wrong with me. I knew we wanted to get pregnant so bad, but I was so afraid of my body. I couldn’t get your hopes up knowing that there was even a chance of me losing this pregnancy.”

Jimmy spoke continuing to rub her back his voice soft. “Honey..”

He didn’t have a chance to speak as she spoke again interrupting him. “I know it wasn’t my choice to make…keeping you in the dark. I didn’t involve you in my decision. I wanted to protect you and I kept you in the dark. I always told you I’d never keep anything from you and I broke my promise. I hurt you. You’re the last person I want to hurt. You have the right to be angry with me.”

He shushed her pressing a kiss to her temple fast to speak before she had a chance to keep talking. “You should have told me, but I can understand why you were afraid. I love you too much to be angry. You were scared sweetheart, and we’ve struggled to make this happen. We’ve had our hopes destroyed so many times. We wanted this so bad. I can’t blame you for being afraid it was going to be taken away. You don’t have to be scared alone though. You never have to be afraid by yourself. I’d much rather be afraid together than be afraid alone.”

She sniffled her voice weak. “You always try to be the strong one for me. I guess I thought I should be strong for you for once. If I had to be afraid alone I thought it was okay because at least you didn’t have to be scared too.”

“You are strong for me…when we lost the baby…I felt so guilty. You had to go through all the physical aspects of it along with the emotional pain. I only had to feel the emotional pain. I thought that you were stronger than me for that. I never told you that…I should have. Never doubt how strong you are. I think we’re both strong for each other. I think we're strongest together. That's why our marriage works. We're at our strongest when we can lean on each other.” Jimmy reassured her, squeezing her a little tighter.

He dared to pull back from her his hand pressing to her stomach his voice soft the guilt fading from her all the more. “A baby, my baby. I did that?”

She managed to speak a weepy laugh leaving her. “It’s hard to comprehend, but the sonogram kind of makes it a little more real.”

He stared down at the sonogram still in his hand. “It’s healthy right? I mean, everything looked okay on the sonogram?”

“Everything looks good so far. The is the only sonogram I’ve had so far….they wanted to do one this soon given…the miscarriage…You really can’t see much of anything. I keep thinking it kind of looks like a peanut…They think we’ll be able to hear the heartbeat next sonogram. They could see the heart starting to develop in this sonogram, but we couldn’t hear it…the doctor said it’s nothing to panic over though.” She explained almost relieved she hadn’t heard the heartbeat without him.

She spoke again sharing the other news he’d missed at the appointment. “My estimated due date is November 15th.”

“It missed my birthday.” He remarked his eyes still locked on her stomach his hand beginning to rub it.

He spoke again, his eyes turning to look at the book he’d placed beside them. “Winnie the Pooh?”

“I remembered what your mom sent the last time…the stuffed animal…like the one you had. I wanted to get another one, but…I just couldn’t. I thought the book might be a good start…maybe we can get the stuffed animal after they’re here.” She explained his eyes growing a little damp as it hit him.

The stuffed animal his mother had send the last time they’d gotten pregnant. It had been a Winnie the Pooh stuffed animal. Jimmy had one when he was a child. Jimmy was pretty sure his grandmother had gotten it for him at Sears for Christmas. 

Of course the one Jimmy’s mother had sent for her future grandchild hadn’t been from the 1980s like Jimmy’s had been. 

He spoke nodding his head. “It’s a good start. It’s a great start. The booties?”

“I figured yellow was a good choice. We don’t know if it's a boy or a girl.” She explained.

Jimmy was fast to speak certain of the words. “Boy or girl, I love it. I love both of you.”

“I love you too.” She responded relieved as his lips met hers all of the fear and doubt she’d felt disappearing.

They sat in silence for a moment as their lips parted Jimmy not pulling his hand from her stomach they soaking up the moment. Y/N felt like she could breathe clearly for the first time in months. 

Jimmy finally spoke breaking the silence. “Can we tell everyone? Is that okay?”

“Yeah. We can tell everyone.” She replied knowing it was time to come clean to everyone.

She was surprised as he reached into his scrubs pants pocket fishing out his cell phone. She watched a little confused as he opened his contacts finding the number he was searching for. He spoke fast to say the words. “Abby can you gather everyone in the lab? Y/N and I have something to say and everyone needs to be there.”

She watched as he finally got off the phone, somehow resisting Abby’s insistence to explain his request further. He spoke, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “I thought the lab would be better than Autopsy. I don’t know how I feel about announcing we’re having a baby, in Autopsy…I mean I know my job is a huge part of my life and our kid will most likely figure out what I do for a living and isn’t going to totally escape dead body talk…but announcing our kid’s existence there might inspire Baby Autopsy Gremlin jokes from Tony.”

“I thought you like the Autopsy Gremlin jokes.” She replied.

He pressed a kiss to her cheek quick to respond. “I like them fine, but I would prefer our baby be spared from it.”

She let him take her hand in his as he stood up helping her gather their things he clearly ready to go share the news.

She took a deep breath ready to completely spill the beans. She felt her stomach flip as it hit her they still had to call their parents.

………………………………………………..

She stood by Jimmy’s side as everyone crowded into Abby’s lab it a tight fit. Autopsy probaby would have had more room, but she had to agree with Jimmy that the idea of sharing the news of a new life in a place where death was so prominent seemed a little too uncomfortable.

Jimmy held her hand scrambling a bit with the gift bag to find just what he was looking for with his free hand.

He felt his cheeks flush the bag almost falling to the floor until Y/N reached out with her free hand steadying it.

He finally found what he needed Y/N taking the bag from him allowing him a bit more freedom of movement.

He held up the sonogram picture proudly, his chin tilted up, his chest puffed out ever so slightly as he spoke. “We’re having a baby. We’re twelve weeks in. I’m going to be a dad”.

Y/N and Jimmy weren’t shocked by the rush towards them their coworkers crowding them the sonogram easily being passed around as well as congratulations. 

Y/N twisted her lips trying not to chuckle realizing Tony was predictable as Tony spoke, staring down at it. “Baby Gremlin looks like a peanut.”

Jimmy narrowed his eyes, a huff leaving him. “No Baby Gremlin jokes, and it’s beautiful. If it's shaped like a peanut it’s the most beautiful peanut I’ve ever seen.”

Gibbs was fast to respond giving Jimmy’s shoulder a pat. “Spoken like a true father Palmer.”

They were surprised by the hug that came from Abby with exclamations containing babysitting offers.

More hugs followed from McGee and Ziva who were less eager to make any offers of future babysitting.

Ducky was quick to offer hugs as well quick to remark. “I am still open to being Grandducky.”

Jimmy and Y/N felt their throats grow tight knowing that with their last pregnancy the concept of Grandducky had come up. 

Any sense of sorrow was overshadowed by the joy they felt spotting the sonogram knowing it would be different this time.

Jimmy was fast to speak. “They couldn’t ask for a better Grandducky.”

Jimmy held Y/N against him as there was more talk among their work-family about the newest edition to the Palmer family.

Jimmy pressed his lips to her temple, his voice soft as his free hand reached down pressing against her stomach. “I love you.”

“I love you. We both do.” Y/N replied any fear and anxiety she’d felt so far away now.

This had been a difficult seven weeks, but she knew the remainder of her pregnancy would be far less difficult.

Even if she was scared, she wouldn’t have to be scared alone. Jimmy was right. They were strongest together.

[thefreelanceangel]

Tagged: Altitis Edition

@luck-and-larceny​ caught me. (Please ignore the goo-goo eyes I’m making at her. Or... don’t... I mean... :D?)

Favorite:

...I... hm. I have the hardest time nailing down a “favorite” in all honesty. Especially if we delve into the dangerous territory that is “former RP NPCs turned novel characters” that I live in. Because I have... so, so many favorites and I absolutely love so many of them. And I love to hate quite a few more of them. 

Okay. OKAY. Forcibly restricting myself to FFXIV characters. (Don’t you sulk at me, Nathan Talbot. Get back into the novel that’s awaiting editing. I’ll get to it in... uh... ask me in five years.)

And I honestly can’t choose a favorite. Even characters I made, took a few pictures of, thought about and then shelved can qualify because every single idea that sparks to life reassures me that age, exhaustion, capitalism and stress haven’t destroyed my urge to create.

Oldest:

As we’re sticking with FFXIV characters, it’s actually C’allie! And not just because she’s the first I made in FFXIV, but because her original incarnation was a Ceilican for an old World of Darkness online game that I ran. (It’s actually one of the first times that my husband and I got a chance to really RP together.) And that game was... gracious... twelve years ago?

I actually used Callie’s name for my FFXIV miqo’te because I was migrating over from GW2, where my hubby and I had Seifer & Anna, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be translating any characters from Tyria, but I wanted someone with a mental tie to the man I was (at the time) dating because I hoped to lure him in to play with me. It worked marvelously and the world got C’allie Kyho, the Seeker of the Sun. 

You’re welcome.

Newest:

Carmen Heron, the Keeper of the Moon architect specializing in erosion repair who is deaf in one ear, really really likes the ladies and smells like candied ginger because she spends so much time sucking/chewing on it. (She always keeps a tin of it in her pocket.) Why candied ginger? 

She lives in and works in Limsa Lominsa and she gets horribly sea sick. So! Having ginger always at hand helps!

Meanest:

Anna. 

Just... yeah. No debate, no question. Anna.

Softest:

Esti Kyton, my sweet, damaged barista. She’s spent her entire life just hoping to be special to someone, living on the fringes of a huge family that never quite seemed to accept her, and has dealt with abuse from both her mother and her ex. All she wants is a quiet home with someone she can take care of, good coffee and a small yard where she can hang her aerial hoop up for her daily practice. 

Most Aloof/Standoffish:

Meli Iliakos, my Warrior of Light. 

There’s... a lot of heartache she’s dealing with, especially after the events of Endwalker and what she learned about her distant and recent past. And being the Warrior of Light means people either assume they have a right to your time or they act like you’re too good for them. Meli doesn’t have the emotional bandwidth anymore to deal with either extreme, and so she stays quiet and tries to let the Scions (and her Scions-Ish) deal with the public at large whenever possible. 

Only in Norvrandt does Meli warm up to the people around her and drop the aloof demeanor.

Dumbest (Affectionate):

Chessi Eder, my lovable idiot. She has more than two brain cells to rub together, but does she realize that? Nope! With all she’s suffered in her life, it’s really a testament to her stupidity that she doesn’t realize she’s been horribly used. Chessi takes everything at face value, assumes the best of everyone and that finally paid off with her being “adopted” by Narasen & Voranoix L’espoir and getting herself a boyfriend-who-isn’t-her-boyfriend-right?-ooo!-is-he-my-boyfriend??? in Sezra.

Dumbest (Derogatory):

Reneaux Iseterre is... too smart for his own good, which essentially turns inside-out and becomes so dumb he can’t comprehend anything without it slowly soaking through his skull. He’s not quite That Guy From Your Literature Classes but he’s dangerously close.

Smartest:

Anna. While C’allie is really damn smart, Summer makes a living as a professional author and Esti has incredible business acumen, Anna’s greatest weapon truly is her intelligence. She’s incredibly good at analytical thinking as well as translating theory into practical application, which stands her in good stead in her quest for complete magical mastery. Anna also masters languages fairly quickly, helping her along when she finds new tomes or treatises from other nations. 

Horniest:

I’m going to shock anyone who’s read this blog for more than a month. It’s not C’allie. Seriously!! It’s NOT C’allie!

It’s Narasen. 

She and Voranoix spent years as just friends, aware of each other, friendly to each other but not much beyond that. And then he comforted her and kept her safe when she had a particularly bad night involving alcohol and loneliness, which led to a rather... long couple of days that they spent together. They went their separate ways and Narasen often thought back to ... well... all of the details of that particular encounter. 

When they officially began a relationship, Voranoix began slowly helping Narasen to recover from the multiple traumas she’d suffered in her youth. (Which involved killing a few people but you know, that’s how these things go.) And some of the methods involved that worked best finally coaxed Narasen into feeling safe enough to express sexual desire. 

Voranoix didn’t realize what he’d unleashed by doing that, but he’s not voiced a complaint yet. 

Now that Narasen is away from Gridania, married to the man who healed her heart and ensured her safety, and feels secure enough to show active desire without fear of what it might entail? She is always after her husband’s ass. 

Character You'd Bang:

Honestly, it’d be C’allie. I wouldn’t actually feel self-conscious with her because C’allie doesn’t have a “type” and she’s playful and fun and funny. I’d really rather hang out and chat with her for a few hours, maybe compare reading lists, exchange recommendations. But if she wanted a roll in the hay, well... She’s experienced enough to make it really good and isn’t hesitant about teaching, so I’d probably come away with some pointers.

Character You'd Be RL Besties With:

Again, C’allie. 

While Summer and I would get along marvelously, and I’d love to have Esti advise me on how to make coffee, C’allie is curious and loves to chat and would drag me out of my comfort zone to explore new things. I’d give her a safe ear where she could talk about her multiple partners as she needed and get her to slow down and maybe even work on creating things for herself. 

Tagging: @riftdancing & @gatheredfates (you two DEFINTELY have enough alts for this to work!); @gray-morality & @catscratching (I know the black snack has more characters and I think Seda’s player does, too); @miqojak (You’ve got at least two that I know of); @fair-fae; @furys-mercy; @thedragonrabbit

[write-now-ggs]

Thank You!

Thank you guys for over 100 readers! We hit this milestone a little bit ago and I've been trying to figure out how to say thank you to those of you enjoying my writings. I can't believe it's been two years since I started this account on here and Its hard to explain how fulfilling all of your support means to me. As I've stated before all of these stories started off in the brain of young 15 year old me, and that was many many moons ago so I've been in the process of rewriting or just finally finishing them. I still have so many stories to finish so I hope that you can stay along for the journey with me.

I'm not good with my words so enjoy this silly little gif adventure to show just how grateful I am.

As I've gotten older finding the time to sit down and write my silly little stories has gotten harder. Between having a full time job (sometimes more than full time), trying to sorta take care of my physical health, moving around the country and well now across the world, and trying to go back home to visit my family, finding time to myself feels nearly impossible. But the thing is, I love writing. Sometimes it does take a huge toll on my mental health but I can't help it. I love creating silly little fantasies for other people to enjoy. When I write I go through phases and they're always random. There are times where the words are just flowing through me and the inspiration is in abundance. I love those times. Then usually soon after that I sit staring at my ceiling with an empty brain (Then I usually get distracted by tiktok). Those times are usually the hardest to go through because I feel guilty. I finally have the time to write something, but nothing. Words just don't seem like words, nothing brings me inspiration and anything I do write just doesn't make sense. And then there's the days where I find the time to write very late into my day and I end up writing and writing up until I have no time to get sleep for my next shift and the sun is peeking through my window. Writing is a journey and no matter how hard or taxing on me it may be I appreciate all the support from you that I get. It genuinely makes everything worth it. Thank you.

The way I celebrate whenever I finish a story is hard to explain. I go pretty insane (It's honestly probably very worrisome), it typically always ends with me putting my hands on my head and hollering "Finally!" Then I usually celebrate with my one singular brain cell that I have left. The long journey of a new story is finally complete and I can share it with all of you lovely people.

Right after uploading something I've worked on for so long I lay by my phone constantly checking it to see how the reception to my newest upload is. It may seem dumb but any little interaction any of my stories get is a huge bump to my motivation. So thank you. Thank you to everyone who comes across this account, to those of you that like every story, to those of you who leave the nicest of comments and especially to those of you who quietly scroll through my stories. I appreciate every single one of you.

This is genuinely how I picture all of you in my head when I see you left a little heart thing on my post. It's one of the best feelings in the world, to me at least. It makes all those many hours spent stressing out on google docs worth it.

I genuinely admire each and every single one of you amazing people. I never expected all of those years ago to have such an amazing group of people supporting my stories. So once again thank you.

So if you made it all the way to the end of all this rambling thank you. This heart is for you <3 . I've never been someone who's been good with my words when it comes to expressing how I feel so I just hope that this gave you at least some insight in to how important you all are to me. So for the last time, Thank you <3 .

I hope you have a great day/night!!

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

I Prefer My Heart To Be Broken, Chapter Seventeen: The Little Black Book

A tense reunion. A fearful flood. A surprising return.

AO3 | Playlist | Masterpost

-----

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE LITTLE BLACK BOOK

The King is just there, no smoke, no noise, and only the displacement of air to announce him.

Martin inhales and holds it. He wants to hurl himself on the King and try to tear him apart.

Yeah, that wouldn’t go well.

“You didn’t wait long,” Martin snaps into the silence, one hand on Jon’s arm.

“I am aware when I am wanted,” says the King in his horrible, piercing rumble, sounding so damned pleased.

Arthur doesn’t know what to do. He clearly doesn’t know what to do. He’s shifting, panting, half-standing, then sitting again, gripping the table as though he plans to either throw it or hide underneath.

Which makes sense, if he knows this is John Doe.

Martin can’t even imagine. What if he went somewhere that Jon went full monster? What if he landed in a place where Jon carried out his scary threat, and became… something else?

Belonged to someone else?

Martin swallows and tries to keep himself between the King and Jon. “Right. So. You need to answer some questions.”

“If you say so,” says Hastur, so gracious it makes Martin’s teeth hurt.

“What are you going to do if Jon finds your Arthur?”

“I have a body for him,” says the King.

Everyone is stunned.

You do? says John.

“It took me many years to craft it,” says the King in Yellow, tentacles waving languidly as if in deep current. “The hardest part was the brain.”

“You….” Arthur begins, and everyone goes still as he addresses this strange, alternate version of his person. “You didn’t just use the old body?”

“It was too damaged, and I had not the means to repair it then,” says the King, and he sounds regretful.

He actually may be regretful.

“But there’s nothing to fear,” says the King. “I’ve taken my time, using the humans of this world; I have dissected and studied every cell, every neuron, every aspect of their genome, every stray soul mooring, and I know how they work. Intimately. The body I have made for Arthur will be his own. I even used his DNA.”

“Well, isn’t that sexy as hell?” says Kayne, stepping out from behind Hastur.

Something in Martin’s soul tugs, and he gasps.

Terror rips through him.

He didn’t want to feel that connection.

Didn’t want to know Kayne could do that.

Didn’t want—

“You leave him alone!” Jon bellows, Jon roars, and everything turns to static.

#

It’s hard to quantify what just happened.

John sort of knows. The part of him that is, used to be, will always be a god, knows.

The part of him that lives in Arthur and restrains himself and will never hurt this fragile human flesh is fucking confused.

Other-Jon just… blew up? No. Expanded? No.

The Archivist just plugged into that flow of power inside him, and he did it with the singular goal of aiming himself at Kayne.

This will not work.

Kayne is too old, too big, too much—

And Jon is too new, and his aim immediately fails.

Power of some revealing, fear-building kind splashes through the room like someone dumped a bucket.

It is not John’s fear. It’s human fear, utterly alien, and the strangeness of it is worse than anything else as it neatly, perfectly, seamlessly paints over his own.

Kayne stops whatever he was doing to Martin with a shudder. Arthur cries out. Martin gasps, and turns to Jon.

Jon, who stares directly at Kayne, and whatever he’s doing is lifting his hair like electricity and sparking in his eyes like fire and leeching the color from everything but himself.

The very air turns to fear, the ground beneath them to terror.

“There’s no need for that,” says Hastur, calmly, too calmly, disturbingly serene in the middle of all of this as though he’d seen it coming. “He will not take your lover, Jon. I guarantee it.”

“Fuck you, I wont,” Kayne laughs.

But Jon… believes Hastur, and that, perhaps, is where all of this was going, all along.

The power fades. The invasion retreats; Jon’s hair settles down, and his eyes stop glowing, and his cells stop vibrating with unreleased horror.

John is still trembling, though. The fear, wielded like a spear, is beyond violational. It is cruel, and personal, and deep.

It’s not natural to him, but that made no difference.

Overwritten, he thinks.

John is panting.

Arthur is panting.

“Jon?” says Martin, barely audible.

Hastur sounds fucking pleased, and his rumble is too big to ever be called a purr. “And here, I’d feared we were moving too soon.”

“Was that really what all this was for, Hastur?” says Jon, low. “All of this, to get your person back?”

“Can you not relate?” says Hastur, who speaks without shame, and John can see the appeal. “You had to stop fighting that which loves you—that which empowers you. Otherwise, when you step through the way you have made, you will simply die.”

“Maybe I can do it. I don't know,” says Jon. “But I’ll tell you what I do know: you’d better tell your fucking dog that if he takes Martin from me, I will not stop there. I will rip through any reality he takes him to, and he thinks he’ll like that, but he won’t. By the time I’m done, the only thing Nyarlathotep will be able to foment is his own damned screams.”

There is a moment of silence on the edge of the world.

A moment of reverence for Martin Blackwood, who inspired such love that the one who chose him would destroy everything to keep him safe.

A moment of horror, because Kayne surely would not respond with kindness.

And he doesn’t. “Oh,” Kayne says so quietly, and there is a thrum, a  weirdness under the floor like a boulder rolling near. “Oh, I hate you so much.”

“Stop it,” says Hastur—and it is a command.

It’s a horrible feeling. A choked feeling, a closing of airways and vision and sound, and whatever this binding is that forces Kayne to obey that which is lesser is unpleasant and unnatural and crude.

But it holds.

Kayne bends over, hands on his knees, panting—and whatever esoteric nonsense is happening to make him appear so human even now, John doesn’t think he wants to know.

Then Kayne looks up and meets Jon’s eyes. “I’m going to enjoy ripping you to tiny, shrieking shreds, over and over again, and you are going to let me because of him.” He points at Martin.

“I’m not, I,” Martin squeaks.

John is still shaken, and so was not prepared for Arthur to suddenly step forward and address the King. “John,” he says. “I want my daughter back.”

Kayne gasps dramatically and covers his mouth with his hands. “You did not.”

Yet another utterly fraught moment of tension and pain and the unknown, and how many more of these can they have before they all just explode?

Hastur hesitates. “Arthur. If the Archivist finds Faroe, I am going to give her to my Arthur.”

And Arthur feels stabbed.

Right through, through the heart, through the soul and spirit.

He makes one soft, inhaling sound, and goes still. If anything so much as nudges him, he’ll sob.

Hastur sounds almost… vulnerable. “I will… I… will see you outfitted. When you return to your home, you will have tools. Perhaps she will no longer be out of reach to you there.”

“Wh… what? You will?” says Arthur.

“As best I can.”

So that’s what he sounds like when he’s actually being gentle, John thinks.

Jon, meanwhile, is staring at Martin. “Did I hurt you?” he whispers.

“Not… not much, it’s fine,” says Martin with enormous eyes. “Just… it was a lot.”

So now Jon looks like he’s about to have a breakdown. “Fuck,” he whispers. “I can’t aim it, maybe.”

“Aim it? Jon!” Martin whispers back.

If John had a face to smack in exasperation, he would.

Panicked, Martin points at Kayne. “Does he have to be here?” he asks the King.

“No, not particularly. It merely seemed fitting,” says the King. “After all, one should be present for one’s own defeat. Besides—he owes a favor, I believe.”

Kayne rolls his eyes so hard there is a sound. “Sure. Whatever. Oh, by the way,” he says, producing a small piece of wood, and begins carving an obscene shape with a knife. “You do realize if you actually managed to remove the Fears from you (which will just kill you, in all probability), you wouldn’t have all these powers anymore?” He smiles. “Sssstripped! Boom, done.”

“Shit,” whispers Martin.

“Oh, yes,” says Kayne, eyes fixed on Martin, and it is an eager, glinting look, polished obsidian in the dark. “He’ll be helpless. Trust me, cupcake. You’re going to learn to love it.”

That’s our knife, says John.

Because it is. The one Martin had used to stab Jon. The one with Arthur’s blood.

“Give me the damned knife!” Arthur bellows.

Arthur! John warns.

Kayne snorts. “Wow. Do you want me to stab you? ‘Give me the damned knife, hur-de-hur!’ But, no. Too easy. I won’t even consider it your favor. Here you go, kitten.” He tosses it.

The knife, stained and dark, clangs and slides across the floor, incredibly loud.

Arthur crouches and feels for it. He’s a mess. He’s in turmoil.

John can’t see why he wanted it so badly. Fuck, he thinks.

And then Martin says, “Jon, what are you doing?” because Jon has the book.

The one wrapped in Hastur’s skin.

The one that yelled at him before.

The one that makes people go mad.

But he isn’t reading it. He’s holding it, frowning at it.

And whatever is happening, it’s making his eyes glow green.

“That’s just cheating,” says Kayne with great cheer. “No fair. I wanted to see him go crazy, just a little.”

“Jon?” says Martin.

“It’s connected,” says Jon, which could mean anything.

Everybody stares at him now (except Arthur, but he certainly does look that direction).

“What’s connected? Jon, you’re scaring me,” says Martin.

“You’re ready,” says Hastur, eager, low, his limbs undulating faster.

Martin suddenly has a horrible feeling.

It’s too like what happened with Jonah—not that he’d been there, but he’d read the damned letter after.

You are marked. You are ready.

“Jon,” he says.

“I can do this,” whispers Jon, and his hair is beginning to rise again, like static.

“Jon!” Martin grabs him by the shoulders and shakes once, sharply.

Jon doesn’t look up. His gaze is fixed on Kayne’s black book, clutched in his white-knuckled hand. “I need to go,” he says. “I feel… it’s like a shining thread, but it’s moving. If I lose sight of it—”

“Bet he can’t wait to set his eyes on the place. The great and dead unknown, never before seen,” drawls Kayne, and Martin knows damn well he just poured fuel on the fire.

Jon looks up at something absolutely no one else can see, and the room goes gray.

Sound dims. Color disappears, vanishing outward from him as if it’s being sucked away.

Martin can’t move. Flashbacks of a Scottish sky going red and serrated, flashbacks of fluffy cows turning to carnivores with red eyes and lowing. Flashbacks of his race back to the safe house, to Jon on the floor, surrounded by broken glass.

Flashbacks—of Jon in his arms, who, until he finally got himself under control and reached that place of constantly fighting, had irises that glowed that flickering green.

It’s the book.

The book wrapped in the skin of a dead god.

“It’s calling him,” Martin says, and embraces him. Tight. So tight, tight enough to make him creak, even as Jon peers over Martin’s shoulder at something no one else can see. “Come back to me. Jon. Don’t do this. Jon! Jon!”

Jon stirs. “I….” He’s breathing hard. “Martin?”

“Look away! Jon!”

Jon gives Martin an absolutely terrified look. “It’s got me,” he whispers.

“I’ve got you!” Martin cries. “Look at me! Just at me!”

“Mister Blackwood,” rumbles the King, low, his growl rising like some terrible quicksand. “Your invitation is revoked.”

“Aww, is that my cue?” says Kayne. and he surges at them.

#

It happens so fast.

John knows what he sees, is capable of seeing it and understanding it on some crucial level, but he has no ability to protect Arthur from the fallout.

Kayne lunges—

And the Archivist manifests a tidal wave between them, loaded with so much fear that though it has no power to actually stop anything, Kayne makes a sound like a hurricane and retreats.

Fear splashes everywhere, hits everyone, and Martin cries out, and the King cries out, and Arthur cries out, and John—

John realizes he had definitely spent too little time considering just how it was the Archivist had any self-control at all if he’d been relying on his extinguished human will.

He would have had no control—and he clearly had some.

Which means Jon still has his human will.

He shouldn’t. Wasn’t possible. The very process of deification should make it gone, burned out, extinguished.

But The Archivist also has a current (power terror transformation) from beings made of human fear flowing within him, and one of those beings loves Jon like itself.

Emulsifier, is all John can think, because he sees that human will and inhuman power merged in a smooth and perfect mixture that simply should not be, and that’s happening because somehow, when Jon was made, the thing that loves him protected those parts of him from being destroyed.

Foolish. Short-sighted. Should have resulted in the death of the Beholding’s Beloved.

But it didn’t.

Like John Doe’s mad gamble centuries before to bind Kayne and destroy the old King, it should not have worked.

But it did.

The Archivist has power, which John showed him how to use.

Jon has his will, and the Beholding makes it strong.

So little time has passed that Martin has blinked only once.

Kayne tries again.

He is no longer remotely human, impossible to look at without eye-bleeds and insanity, and Kayne surges forward in growing and bulbous and ravening form.

John has just long enough to think, if this keeps happening, we’re all going to go mad with fear, but the Archivist doesn’t do what he did last time.

The power is cleaner, and it isn’t a wave, not a liquid, not a splashing, loose-edged thing of mayhem and mess. Instead, it’s a huge and monstrous maw.

Now, John doesn’t know what the fuck he sees.

He feels Arthur react, though, respond to this thing (Hunt, that’s the Hunt, that is the actual Hunt taking form by Jon’s will and the Beholding’s love and the Web’s fucked-up exaltation), and he tries to lunge toward it.

It’s like nothing John has ever felt. Arthur is terrified but drawn, desperate to get away and yet choosing to join.

John grabs the table with his left hand, and Arthur’s entire body jolts off its feet with the force of his aborted leap.

That’s all the time it took. The jaws (invisible but tangible, unseen yet imprinted on the back of everybody’s eyelids) chomp down on Kayne, who would absolutely be able to get away but for his thoroughly understandable surprise.

And then Jon shoves Martin to the right, leaps to the left, and takes Kayne with him into the Dark World.

There’s a moment of silence, of gasps, and shudders.

Martin screams.

#

Arthur groans.

He feels like he got hit with a blackjack. His heart pounds, and his hands throb.

And he remembers being called.

There’s nothing formed in this memory. Nothing solid, nothing in color, no images; but in that moment, undeniable, inescapable, his heart no longer hurt.

And it’s strange. He doesn’t feel like he forgot Faroe, but… it’s worse than if he had.

The nebulous memory came with a dose of fear so strong that his mouth still tastes like pennies, and yet, it was glorious. It was beautiful. Perfect fear, casting out love.

He can't deal with this now. Nope. Maybe not ever.

“John?” he wheezes, desperate to focus on anything else, and then realizes there is a fight.

Arthur, he says. Fuck, I was worried. But shh—they’re arguing.

“Get the tapes!” Martin is saying, loud, demanding, to the King in Yellow.

“I have no tapes, Mister Blackwood,” says the King.

“Don’t lie to me! You owe him that! After what you put him through, put us all through!”

For fuck’s sake, Hastur, John is saying. What harm can it possibly do? Give him the damn tapes.

Tapes?

Him?

What?

“Do you truly expect me to hand over my last bargaining chip, John?” says the King, serene.

“Don’t do this,” Martin says. “I’ve lost him so many times. You said so many times how special he was, but you won’t even give this one stupid thing that costs you nothing!”

“And if Kayne destroys them the moment he returns?” says the King. “They are not mere sound. I don’t know how the Web recorded Jon’s essence on those tapes, but she did. Even if I recreated them, they would not have the same power. No; no, I think I’d rather keep them safe in case of some emergency.”

“This is an emergency!” Martin bellows.

John sighs.

The King’s tone does not gentle. “Besides, I have no way to deliver them to your lover. Until Jon comes back, they’d just be sitting out, vulnerable.”

“I don’t want them delivered! He’ll need help to find his way back!”

“This is unlike the coffin of your past, Mister Blackwood. The situation is different—and your lover is changed.”

Martin sounds bad. He’s almost unable to speak. “You don’t even care. All those pretty words, and they were lies.”

“Mister Blackwood, I am hardly trying to harm your lover. The fact is that Jon does not understand how remarkable he is—and neither do you. He can do this.”

“He’s in there with Kayne!” Martin cries.

“Kayne is trapped. He needs a way to get out.”

“So what?”  says Martin.

“Without Jon, he can’t get out, any more than I could get in. I don’t think he’ll kill him.”

“But he can hurt him.” Martin’s voice breaks.

“I will repair any damages,” says the King.

“If he does what you want,” says Martin, who’s no fool. “And if he doesn’t, you’ll throw him back in like shoving a man who’s drowning back underwater.”

Silence for a moment. “Mister Blackwood. Have you misunderstood the situation?”

“I think I’ve understood it better than you.”

“As I recall, you said you didn’t care what other universes suffered as long as you could save your lover,” the King casually says. “So perhaps, in your infinite human wisdom, you could be… a little more kind.”

Asshole, thinks Arthur.

Arthur, warns John.

“That’s not fair,” Martin says, quieter.

“I think it is,” says the King.

So all of this is awful.

Immovable object meets irresistible force, Arthur thinks.

Are you all right?

“Fuck, John,” Arthur says, louder. “What tapes? What are they for?” He tries to sit up, and nausea immediately proves that a bad idea.

They’re tape recordings of the Archivist’s voice, or something. Martin thinks they’ll help his Jon get back from the Dark World.

Arthur whistles, low.

Martin doesn’t answer. It sounds like he’s pacing.

The King in Yellow sighs. “Arthur. You’ve concussed yourself again.”

He’s fine, snarls John.

Arthur props himself on one elbow and turns his face toward the King’s voice.

Toward… John’s voice. Other-John.

Not his John, sure—but still John.

“John,” he says, not addressing the one in his head. “Will the tapes help?”

“I do not believe they will accomplish anything,” says Hastur, but now…

Now, he sounds less sure.

“They’re… so you’re saying they’re….” Arthur is having trouble with words.

Hastur sighs again.

Thick, warm limbs lift Arthur from the floor, and he remembers.

Suddenly, sharply. Remembers Hastur doing this before, remembers being cradled, being… healed.

“You must be more careful, Arthur,” says Hastur, low and warm. He slides one hand over Arthur’s head, and the ache goes away.

“Thanks.” He can’t recall the conversation when this happened before, but that’s not what matters.

What does is this is not the King.

Not the one who’ll never be forgiven.

Not the one Arthur would leap into hell for if it meant he could drag him there himself.

Arthur has not been put down.

He’s not asking to be.

Better? says John, grumpy, probably because of the whole not-put-down thing.

“Yes,” says Arthur.

The way this feels…

So right. Safe. Good.

It is a choice to remain still, not to panic, not to thrash—but not a hard choice. It’s still John, no matter how much he’d fucked himself up.

“I know I’m not yours,” Arthur says, verbally processing. “You’re not mine, either. But you know what? Before we split, before that fixed point, whatever it was, you were mine, and I was yours.”

Everyone is silent.

“Yes,” Hastur finally says.

“Do the tapes really not matter?”

“I don’t know,” says the King.

“Is their destruction really the concern here?” says Arthur.

A moment of silence. Hastur sounds like he’s smiling. “You’re being clever, I see.”

“I’m not being clever. I’m walking a mile in someone else’s shoes. You can make brains, for fuck’s sake, and you’re going to tell me you haven’t already reverse-engineered the fuck out of those tapes?”

Martin goes still.

The King chuckles. “Ah, I’ve missed you.”

“If you really did, you’d give a damn how Martin feels right now,” says Arthur. “I don’t expect you to care about me, but you’ve got to care a little about him.”

“I do. I intend to keep them together,” says the King.

“Then you know what the right thing to do is.”

“I… Arthur. Your understanding of the situation is simplistic and new. You don’t understand the complexities—”

“I understand his heart just maybe got lost forever in the Dark World, and he thinks those tapes can help,” says Arthur. “I understand he’s yelling at a terrifying monster god because he’s so afraid for him. I understand I’d be doing the same thing, if not worse.” Arthur smiles crookedly. “Let’s be honest. I’d be trying to punch you in the eye, or something. Stupid.”

“Quite stupid,” agrees the King with a low purr that rumbles the room.

“The way I see it, Jon’s going to manage it, or he won’t. Will the tapes matter to that?” says Arthur. “Will they at least comfort Martin?”

“You are trying to be reasonable with me because I have promised you aid,” the King deflects. “Or perhaps to gain more of it. But you are not my Arthur. I am hardly the John you know. My answer remains unchanged.”

Arthur takes Hastur’s nearest limb in his right hand. “I fucking was, for fuck’s sake. Look, you want another reason? How about this—when the other me comes back, if he finds out about any of this, how’s he going to react to the whole tape thing?”

Hastur stares.

Oh, Arthur, says John.

“Perhaps,” says Hastur very slowly, “you have a point. Maybe it is to my advantage to provide the—”

Kayne suddenly comes bursting out of nowhere, tearing between them at top speed.

And right behind him, the King in Yellow’s dead, eaten, other half comes flying after, and attacks.

(part eighteen)

NOTES

Jon, what are you DOING.

Also, Arthur? Well done, my man. Pity the Zombie!King decided to interrupt.

[youcouldstartacult]

Hey! Gotta say that I usually agree with you but this time I feel like you're putting everything and everyone on the same bag, I mean, who cares about what Twitter stans can say? Most of that people have 2 brain cells and they only follow a trend (to constantly hate). And yeah some fans talk like they're managers and sadly now days it seems like music's all about streams and numbers, personally I couldn't care less about it or he having new fans through festivals (I think it's a bit "silly" that idea cause there are hundreds of ways to find/listen different artist) of course it would be awesome that more people could recognize how talented and hard working he is, that's what every fan wants. Also, maybe I follow the right people idk but the few ones that I saw complaining about the songs they were respectful, didn't doubt or commented about the music, I want them to be longer cause from the snippets that he gave us ALL OF THEM SOUND SO SO GOOD, REALLY, IT'S GOING TO BE HIS GREATEST ALBUM and some of us genuinely want like 2 more songs at least because we know what he's capable of, and yes, I know he tries to tell a story with the album but we're coming from HBW with 14 SONGS plus Dress and Nothing, it makes sense to want more.

On the other hand... if 2020 was tough for Niall, who's rich, white, went out countless time when quarantine was still on and then travelled wherever he wanted, what's left for the rest of the world? C'mon, he's not an angel and it's okay to say it

hey! idk why u think i’m putting people in the same bag, especially since i never @/ed anyone in any of my posts and have consistently said that was just how i personally was feeling! you can want more, i never said it wrong that you want that. i never once policed anyone in my own personal posts about my own feelings lmao :)!

I’m well aware he’s a rich, white man. That doesn’t make his mentality any less important and him having to deal with the disappointment of his vulnerable and personal art getting derailed and his disabilities is a pretty big deal! kind of weird to diminish that when he’s spoken about depression, OCD, and his physical disabilities so openly and for putting words into my mouth like I ever said “he had it the hardest out of everyone in the world” bc i never did!

“He’s not an angel…” because he didnt put more songs on an album? i dont see how that is relevant at all😭

[lesser-mook]

Asian game devs have already won.. (They didn’t win shit)

virgin simulator. 

Civilization is doomed, not because of the game itself (this isn't the first gf sim to ever exist), but what gave rise to this perpetual arrested development culture.

  A Generation of little boys who don't want to risk anything but want max reward of a woman's body & time anyway.

  culture radicalized girls thus ruined ladies while waging war on men, that's part of the issue here, but thats not how life works bucks, you can't risk NOTHING and gain everything. No amount of pixels is going to replace that, and if what you want isn't a replacement but a numbing effect, you're then part of the problem, just an addict with no track marks nor a legacy to speak of. When yer in a box, your legacy is a gallery of how little you accomplished. Hence why you're living it now through synthetic parody and virtual bastardization because of zero life skill to actually gain anything for yourself. 

So you need 2-7 guys to do the work for you to make a Simulator to close the gap of what you're incapable of cultivating in the real world where shit matters.

See if these devs cared? They'd get up in your face and tell you go live. But they don't, this is about them making their shortcoming a banking opportunity, and ngl? It's brilliant, make thousands of abandoned hearts the suckers & you get rich. That's how Romance Novel writers do it to women.

It's just wanting pet women thats there for one reason only, hence essentially wanting a pet and not a partner. Which is what disqualifies one from even being desirable. Hence lonely, hence running the The Matrix, it's a paradox of failure.

*It's pathetic, and I RARELY use the "pathetic" card but my god this is pure garbage.*

All the chics are autistic or mentally 5 years old, just how a boy likes them. Malleable, easy to control.

*Like really think about what you're looking at, none of these characters or avatars are given any nuance or real personality. And I bet you none of these chics actually will make you work for it- hence the escapism. Get something for nothing. LAZY.* Does escapism HAVE TO entail that women are reduced to 1 Brain cell having amoebas that are essentially escorts? that's really what this is, an escort sim for shut-in's. This is ridiculous, fetishists are the underground symptom of the decline of parenting, this is the blatant 'in your face' example of the decline of men. And all you have to do is just look at the execution of the product AND LOOK AT THE CREATORS making it. 

Because a Gf sims aren't a new thing, so this existing isn't indicative of anything on it's own, it's the brazen nature of it. The desperation oozing from it, because boys & men were all in all left behind and abandoned by both the party and women because the party claims women & girls (because they're easier to manipulate politically) and leaves boys & men to rot because they're the one's that will fight the system first and the hardest.

This is what happens.

  1:04 "YEP.", exactly

NUFF SAID, thats who the masterminds are, real chads. Lmfao, sad.

Society failed women by making them think they're the full package. And failed men by almost rendering them extinct. And the result is a mass of Boyisms, retreating 24/7, apathy, cowardice, laziness. Shinji Ikari syndrome. Guarantee you plenty of people here watched Neon genesis & got mesmerized by the mechs and missed the point of what Shinji represented These devs don't care about their audience, they care about faux security in projecting their ineptitudes and failures and getting rewarded for making their insecurities everyone's business. That's what this is about, reinforcement, not supporting lonely men. It's about them, not the people buying the product. The same exact mentality as a fetishist or a woke writer, I kid you not. It's the same principle.

But do what you gotta do kid.

The problem began 30+ years ago while people could afford to ignore it, not when this game was made. The solution is what It's always been, stop propping up women & using men as the pillars. Stop leaving boys behind, cultivating no men, waging war ON Masculinity, then be surprised why boys remain boys forever. You can't have it both ways, because this is what you get. If men are demoralized from using their ingenuity to claim a real woman in a healthy way, they're going to put that god given creativity elsewhere. It's inevitable, the era created this, not men, not women, the collective society that claimed women & left men to wriggle on their backs. You can NOT do that for generations, you can divide the two sides, and abuse boys or girls on end and expect success, expect birthrate stability, expect prosperity while having a boot on the throat of masculinity, enablign fetishism, or digital waifu addict culture, radicalizing the female ego or erasing what a woman even is. Nothing short of psychotic if you think you can do that and still get a TYPE-II Civilization, let alone help the birthrates or more importantly heal the relations. You're insane, you can NOT have both.

[datguytv]

For everyone to know - the N8GGER through Honky Thought they were smarter than everyone else - tried to take my life as offspring of Wilma that they hated - to get revenge on Wilma For Hating Their Ways as WHOREs.

Then the WHOREs through turning Wilma's Daughters into Whores - instructed the Daughters through Dave To Kill Wilma - and was instructed through Dave by way of his honky alliances to Take me After they Killed Wilma. That down to the police department the police department then promised the family members that if they killed Wilma They would be rewarded with me and business for them of those left.

Then the HONKYs was to lie and backup their lies with surveillance of that which I had done and planned for myself and the HONKYs was to say - that I had done for myself in my career choices was part of the crimes that they got the family members on.

When the family members were the HONKYs watching me Study and preparing for my career.

They were to say my career was waa result of them when my career was my choosing followed by them. They were supposed to lie to you and get all the Ashford including the one who was living his own life that was followed by them which they were supposed to have taken in the end.

I decided my career choices and they were to follow and create crimes around the career I chose and then LIE to you that my career choice was a result of the crimes who was Them the HONKIES. Handled like a pro.

See there are reasons and justifications for my choosing journalism that you even today don't know. Just like my internal hidden reasons for working out so hard as a child - which I just unveiled that it was my feeling sad all the time as a young boy - I found on my own the answers and that was working out. And found later in study that the adrenaline flow that pushed endorphins to my brains and stopped me from crying as a child! That which mom was there to see. And now I don't have depression anymore as an adult when I started working out the hardest when I was feeling sad that I was fat as a child. Fat as a child made me Ugly to me then.

The HONKYs didn't know until I introduced them to solutions for sadness - which for me as a child was Exercising in my room.

Endorphins that moves the brain cells and lifts the spirits back to normal psychological levels of that of energy.

They were envious that I had answers to all their plots - because I had experienced all their plots from the time I was a child and studied them. Then.

In journalism when we pull footage for a professional report that footage can be the basis of our writing modules or the opposite - the writing could come first and we can pick the footage based on the script we have already written beforehand.

That is what we know that they didn't know we knew.

Their plan was to be based on the ones they targeted and then the leadership was to use the Numbers IN to lie and about the Beginnings.

On a World Court stand - I can make these WHOREs Look exactly like Whore Killers to the world and get rid of all the Pussys on Earth if I want to.

Cuz I Know! The Pussy wanted to hurt me because they couldn't have me. And got Outted about their Pussys! All over the World.

The N8GGERS targeted WILMA and therefore Targeted My Life To Have Been taken By The N8GGERS and HONKYs for their Hate of Wilma.

[millerkingnyc54]

What Are the Most Challenging Solitaire Groupings in World of Solitaire?

Introduction

World of Solitaire is a popular online stage that offers a wide demonstration of solitaire games for sweethearts to appreciate. While different people are have a few commitment in unimaginable Klondike and Spider Solitaire, World of Solitaire takes these games to an extra fundamental level by giving different challenging assortments. In this article, we will explore plainly the most challenging solitaire moves toward that anybody could expect to track down on World of Solitaire. From the model Klondike to the flabbergasting Google Solitaire, these games offer a remarkable blend of method and strength that makes players need to a reliably extending degree.

Klondike Solitaire: The Model Test

Klondike Solitaire is the most surprising and respectable solitaire gathering. It's the game overwhelmingly most consider when they hear "solitaire." The objective is to organize each of the cards in four foundation loads by suit and in rising referring to. The game early phases with seven scene areas of cards, with the top card in each part face up. The player can move cards to add up to dropping plans and uncover hidden away cards.

World of Solitaire offers Klondike in various difficulty levels, and the challenging perspective reliably comes from dealing with the set number of moves and the essential for huge planning. Experienced players can partake in the "Draw 3" gathering, which develops the test by allowing only three cards to be drawn from the deck at a time, making it harder to uncover hidden away cards and plan your moves.

For people who search for an essentially more clear test, World of Solitaire offers decisions like "Vegas" and "Vegas Joined." These assortments present a scoring structure that can repulse worked up moves, adding an extra layer of framework and making Klondike much genuinely challenging.

Spider Solitaire: Eight-Legged Issues

Spider Solitaire is a challenging social event that has obtained a given following among solitaire dears. In this game, the goal is to figure out the cards in eight foundation stacks, with each store containing cards of an essentially indistinguishable suit in climbing interest. The mutilate in Spider Solitaire is that all of the cards start in ten scene parts, and the player's endeavor is to make all over groupings of cards in sliding plans, paying little brain to suit.

World of Solitaire offers different difficulty levels for Spider Solitaire, going from one suit (least requesting) to four suits (hardest). The four-suit structure is thoroughly seen as one of the most challenging solitaire games open. With 104 cards to work with and bound moves, this assortment demands creativity as well as a sharp eye for sorting out the best upgrades to move.

Spider Solitaire incites that players should get ready and consider the consequences of each card's situation, which makes it so challenging and satisfying to wrap up.

Free cell: The Limit based challenge

Free cell is a staggering solitaire gathering known for its challenging nature. The game is played with four foundation stores and eight scene sections. The curve in Free cell is that the 52 cards are evidently controlled face up close to the start, and the player can move any card to an unfilled segment or onto a card that is one position higher and of the opposite tone. The objective is to move each of the cards to the foundation loads, figuring out them by suit and in rising game plans.

The test in Free cell comes from the player's ability to plan their moves unequivocally. While the cards are distinguishable from the start, there is a set number of void cells and scene segments open to take the central actions. This requires cautious status, and players an essential piece of the time end up in conditions where a lone wrong move can incite a stalemate.

World of Solitaire offers different Free cell groupings, including Mix puncher's Down and Eight Off, each with its own superb hardships and rule plans. These additional combinations add significance to the by and large phenomenal world of Free cell, seeking after it a brilliant choice for solitaire fans.

Yukon Solitaire: The Crucial Test

Yukon Solitaire is a less prestigious yet basically challenging solitaire blend. In Yukon, the goal is to move each of the cards to the foundation loads, essentially dubious as Klondike, yet with a key fragment. In Yukon, all the scene cards are managed face up, allowing players to see all reasonable moves from the start. The catch is that the scene cards can be moved in plans, paying little psyche to suit, making an enthralling blend of construction and card control.

The test in Yukon Solitaire comes from planning and executing long groupings of cards while limiting the use of void cells and scene pieces. A game separations players who can think two or three pushes forward and exploit the conspicuous cards on the scene.

World of Solitaire offers a committed view of Yukon Solitaire, and for those searching for an extra test, blends like "Russian Solitaire" and "The Frozen North" give pivotal rule sets and astonishing checks to make due.

Google Solitaire: A Top tier Curve

Google Solitaire is a genuinely late development to the world of solitaire blends. Made by Google as a Secret treat covered in its represented records, it's an unparalleled regardless propensity addressing sort of Klondike Solitaire. The goal is to stack each of the cards in rising courses of action by suit in the foundation loads, as excellent Klondike.

What makes Google Solitaire enamoring is its moderate technique and responsiveness. While it could ooze an impression of being much more gather straight up, the test lies in the appointed number of moves and the essential for accurate card circumstance. The game capabilities players who can complete it with the least moves possible.

World of Solitaire has seen the allure of Google Solitaire and made it into its liabilities. It's a nonsensicalness and open decision for those looking for a fast solitaire fix that genuinely gives a fair test.

Tri Zeniths Solitaire: A Stack of Issues

Tri Peaks Solitaire is a solitaire mix that stands isolated due to its captivating scene plan. In this game, the objective is to get each one freed from the cards by picking one card moderate in rank than the foundation card. The scene is worked with in a three-sided shape, with the foundation load cards at the base and covering cards above. Players need to uncover cards by shedding the ones on top of them, uncovering new decisions for play.

The test in Tri Pinnacles Solitaire rises out of the need to demandingly course of action moves to clear the scene and work on the potential for making headways. Also, the game plans in which cards are uncovered could according to a general point of view at whatever point influence your procedure.

World of Solitaire offers a party of Tri Peaks Solitaire groupings, with moving scene plans and rule sets. These blends add significance and complex arrangement to the game, making it a go-to choice for players looking for something different and challenging.

Pyramid Solitaire: Building the Swaying

Pyramid Solitaire is a charming solitaire blend that merges destroying a pyramid of cards by matching cards that have a full scale worth of 13. The objective is to get each one freed from the cards by making matches and uncovering the foundation cards. Pyramid Solitaire moves players to think to the extent that card values and blends instead of according to a general point of view suits and positions.

The test in Pyramid Solitaire comes from the completely analyzed plan of the pyramid and the need to carefully sort out for which matches to make to uncover regardless cards as could sensibly be anticipated. A single flounder can incite what's going on where the overabundance cards can't be matched to show up at 13.

World of Solitaire offers several Pyramid Solitaire groupings, each with its own brilliant pyramid plan. Several plans add additional obstructions and goals, for instance, "Tut's Internment chamber," which joins mummy cards that ought to be matched to clear the pyramid. These plans update the test and assembling of the game.

Clock Solitaire: A Head of solidarity and relentlessness

Clock Solitaire is a period delicate solitaire collecting that adapts a wonderful bend with the standard solitaire rules. The objective is to move all of the cards to the foundation stores, coordinating them by suit and in rising game plans. The breeze is that you have a limited degree of time to take your activities.

The test in Clock Solitaire is changing your essential for speed with the need of chasing after huge choices. The sort of a ticking clock can empower even decisions feel really challenging, and players ought to conform to this additional predicament.

World of Solitaire offers an especially coordinated Clock Solitaire game that tests players' ability to think quickly and execute their moves capably while really focusing in working.

Conclusion

World of Solitaire is a treasure trove of solitaire groupings, each offering a striking system of moves and strategies to regulate everything. From the splendid Klondike Solitaire and Spider Solitaire to less astounding critical stones like Yukon and Pyramid Solitaire, this stage has something for solitaire aficionados, considering everything. Whether you're a lovely player looking for a relaxing game or a carefully set up veteran searching for a solid groundwork of your solitaire limits, World of Solitaire oversees you. Consequently, if you're prepared to take on a circumstance, impact into the world of solitaire on this stage and see which blend changes into your new most respected check.

[citylightconfessions]

He said I could write you a letter.

I've been wrestling with God, lately. He tells me to keep my distance and it would be naïve of me to believe that it's for my own good. I know it's for yours, because, well, How dare I reappear out of the pit of abandonment just to ease my own fears. Especially if I'm not going to tell you that I've gone and changed my mind. That I've rearranged my thought patterns to make room for us. I wonder if you've given up on that hope, yet. Hoping one day I'll come jaunting out of the woodwork to tell you that I've re-wired my brain. I wish that were true...But it isn't. But I will tell you what is true. What is true is that drinking from the cup of my self-righteousness contaminates the soul- So I've gone and dumped them all down the drain. There are so many words that I've said to you I wish I could take back. I've been crying over you a lot lately. I see you in everything, everyone. It's not in my nature to leave. It never will be. I'm not very good at it, you see. I hope that your hair is growing back. I hope that as the dead cells fell into your hands that you discovered there was something new hiding underneath. I hope that the memories you have of me aren't completely tainted. I hope you still eat shredded cheese right from the bag. I hope you still love people with your whole heart. I hope you've taken that dragon heart of yours on a flight or two. I hope your friends started showing up for you. A nice couple came into work today, they said they were from Virginia Beach. I hoped that they knew you, though, I'm sure they didn't. I still can't go into a petsmart without crying. I showed your picture to someone yesterday. I said, "Look at her, eating her cheese." He didn't understand when I said that leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life. It was never an easy choice. So I write this letter. Because I don't get to reach out. I don't get to uncover old wounds just to see those three dots bouncing on the bottom of the screen to let me know you're typing...to let me know you're alive. I know we’re in our separate universes that we had to return to in order to maintain the order of the world but I sit on that bench we talked about. I see your little green active symbol over your name and I imagine you’re waiting with me. I Imagine we have a different story to tell. Please tell me that I did something good. Tell me that I wasn't just a stain on your pillowcase. Tell me that you don't hate me. Visit me, somewhere in my dreams, as you often do, but this time tell me that you're healing.