#I could’ve made things better but I didn’t think to

[daisymbin]

"you used to love me " with mingyu x fem! Reader💗

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second chance prompt #44: "you used to love me."

mingyu had gotten used to the coldness in your voice. it wasn't always like this—there was a time when the sound of your laughter had been his favorite thing, when your touch had felt like home. but ever since the breakup, you had a way of cutting him down with sharp words and pointed looks, leaving him wondering where everything had gone wrong.

he didn't know why you hated him now. or at least, why you acted like you did.

“don’t you have anything better to do than linger around here?” you snapped one evening, your tone biting as mingyu hovered near your desk at the shared workspace for a project.

his brows furrowed. “i was just asking if you needed help. no need to bite my head off.”

“well, i don’t,” you replied curtly, your eyes fixed on the papers in front of you.

he clenched his jaw, forcing a polite nod. “got it.”

it wasn’t the first time you’d brushed him off like this. at a mutual friend's party, you'd made a snide comment about how “clingy” he used to be, loud enough for him to hear. when you’d run into him at the grocery store, you muttered something about how “some people just don’t know when to let go” before walking away without so much as a glance back.

but this time, it was different.

the final blow came on a late afternoon, after yet another tense encounter. mingyu had tried to make small talk, asking about your day, and you snapped, “why do you even care? you didn’t care enough when it actually mattered.”

his chest tightened, the words hitting him harder than he expected. for a moment, he just stared at you, his lips parting as if to say something but no sound coming out. finally, his voice broke through, soft and pained.

“you used to love me, you know,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “you don’t have to be like that... you don't have to be so mean.”

your breath caught, and for a moment, you faltered, but you quickly masked it with a scoff. “that’s in the past.”

he didn’t reply, just nodded slowly, shoulders heavy as he turned and walked away.

a few days later, you found yourself at the park for an outdoor charity event, mingyu nearby as usual, volunteering for the setup. you tried to avoid him, keeping your distance as much as possible.

but then you heard the commotion.

a crash, followed by a string of startled voices. you whipped around to see mingyu sprawled on the ground near a pile of fallen equipment, holding his arm awkwardly.

“gyu-ah!” you shouted as panic coarses through you, rushing over before you even realized what you were doing. he groaned, trying to sit up, but you dropped to your knees beside him, your hands trembling as they hovered over his arm.

“what were you thinking?” you snapped, but your voice cracked with worry. “you could’ve gotten seriously hurt!”

“im fine,” he said weakly, offering you a small, strained smile. “just a scratch.”

“a scratch?” you repeated, your voice rising. “mingyu, you’re bleeding!”

tears pricked your eyes as you fussed over him, checking his arm for more injuries. mingyu's eyebrows burrowed as he watched you in silence, his heart twisting at the sight of your panic.

“you’re always so reckless,” you muttered, your voice breaking as you pressed a clean cloth to his arm to stop the bleeding. “why do you always have to act like nothing matters? why can't you take better care of yourself? you scared me.”

he blinked, taken aback. “you were scared?”

“of course i was scared!” you snapped, tears spilling over now. “do you think i’d just stand there and do nothing if something happened to you? i—”

you stopped, realizing what you were about to say. your hands froze, still pressed against his arm, and you refused to meet his gaze.

“you still care about me,” mingyu said softly, his voice filled with quiet wonder.

you swallowed hard, shaking your head. “i... i don’t...”

“you do,” he pressed, leaning closer despite the pain in his arm. “you wouldn’t be like this if you didn’t.”

you bit your lip, fresh tears welling up. “what do you want me to say?” you asked in exasperation and frustration, your shoulders shaking. “what do you want me to do? why can't you just.. why do you keep making me worry? why can't you just stay away? why do you have to make moving on from you so hard? why cant you just let me be mean and hate you? its so much easier to just hate you than—”

mingyu could only watch helplessly as you choked over your sobs. his heart broke at your words, guilt washing over him. “i’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “for everything. for making you feel like you had to do that just to protect yourself. i... i didn't mean to," mingyu says defeatedly, "i know i probably don’t deserve it, but.. i miss us.”

your breath hitched, and he reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against yours. “i don’t want to hurt you again,” he continued, his voice soft and vulnerable. “but if there’s even the smallest part of you that’s willing to try again... i’d do anything to show you how much i still love you.”

you looked up at him, his sincerity clear in his eyes, and for the first time in a long while, the wall you’d built around your heart began to crack.

“i hate you,” you muttered as your fist balled and hits his chest, "i hate you so much," your voice trembling as the tears now fall freely.

still, mingyu smiled through his pain, knowing what this means. “i love you,” he confesses, "I love you so much,"

"I hate you," you repeat, your fist going up to hit his chest again.

this time, mingyu catches you by your wrist, "you hate me as much as you love me, sweetheart." at this, your eyes only waters more because you know he's right; you dont actually hate him.

mingyu's grip on your wrist loosened, his hand sliding down to intertwine with yours. his gaze softened, but he didn't let go, holding onto you like you were his lifeline.

"you hate me, but you're still here," he murmured, his voice trembling as he let out a bitter laugh. "you’re crying because of me, you’re still holding on, too."

your lips parted to argue, but nothing came out. the truth sat heavy in the air between you.

"stop it," you whispered instead, your voice wavering.

he shook his head, his free hand brushing against your cheek, wiping away a tear that had slipped down. "i love you," he says again softly, his thumb lingering on your skin. "i’m not asking you to forgive me right away. i’m not even asking you to love me again—"

"gyu-," you interrupted, your chest tightening at the vulnerability in his voice.

he smiled faintly, shaking his head. "no, just let me say this," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "all I'm asking for is a chance. a chance to show you that i can do better. that i can be the man you deserve to have by your side."

your heart pounded in your chest, his words hitting you with a force you weren’t prepared for. your walls wavered, the cracks growing wider with each syllable he spoke.

"and if you can’t," mingyu continued, his voice breaking slightly, "if you can’t give me that chance, i’ll walk away. i’ll leave you alone for good if that’s what you want."

you stared at him, your throat tight as tears threatened to spill again. his honesty was overwhelming, and for a moment, you hated how much you wanted to believe him.

"you used to love me," he voice soft & hoarse, it almost broke you. "and i know i messed it up. but if there’s even the smallest part of you that still does, just... let me fix it."

the silence between you felt deafening. your heart screamed at you to take the risk, but your head begged you to protect yourself.

you searched his face, looking for any hint of insincerity, but all you saw was him—raw, open, and so clearly in love with you that it hurt.

"you’re an idiot," you muttered, your voice breaking, but your grip on his hand didn’t falter.

mingyu let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his lips curving into a relieved, almost disbelieving smile. "i missed hearing you say that," he said softly, pulling you closer.

you rolled your eyes, a weak laugh escaping you despite the tears still clinging to your lashes. "don’t push your luck."

"never," he said, his voice full of quiet determination as he pulled you into a gentle embrace. "i promise."

[faithshouseofchaos]

Franco x driver reader- She is a rookie who started before him and the others on the grid are protective of her since she has no one with her (her family never goes to see her or supports her). They start talking and the other drivers act like older brothers.

A/n— Hi 👋 @alex-wotton I went with the last one because it really stood out to me because I realized last night that if I was a f1 driver traveling to races would be pretty lonely as my mom has lupus and is in pain all the time and my siblings are still in school while my dad works out on the road. I will also be doing the others to.

Oh one more thing this is just a little look into the big fic around this request I’ll be doing later… depending on how well this does.

"They mean well" — Franco Colapinto x fem! rookie diver! Reader

Fluff slightly angsty

Word count—1122

Summary — Franco befriend's the female Alpine rookie the only problem is that he now has to deal with her guard dogs.

The first few weeks on the grid were a whirlwind, especially since you were a rookie in a sport where every second counts, and every move you make is scrutinized. It was hard, almost overwhelming, and though you knew the other drivers were competitive, you quickly realized that there was a quieter, more supportive side to them. You couldn’t deny how much it helped to have the older drivers looking out for you.

Lando had taken to teasing you right away. His cheeky humor and constant lighthearted comments were always enough to make you laugh, even on the toughest days. “You’re doing better than most of the vets, you know,” he’d say after a particularly good lap, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Next time, you’ll have to give me some pointers!”

Max, who often seemed aloof to others, was surprisingly attentive. He noticed when you were on your own, after long days when you would simply wander the paddock, minding your own business. Without a word, he would sidle up next to you, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and talk about the most mundane things—anything to take your mind off the pressure. “Have you ever tried the coffee from the new stand near the paddock? Best one in town,” he’d comment, knowing full well it was an excuse to pull you into a conversation that wasn’t about racing for once.

Charles, ever the older brother type, was the one who would make sure you didn’t slip into your head too much. He could tell when the weight of everything was starting to build up on your shoulders. “Hey,” he’d say, voice gentle but firm. “You’re doing fine. Don’t let the stress get to you. You have a team behind you.”

And then there was Franco. He was quieter than the others, but his presence was undeniable. He’d only just joined the grid, and the others were quick to embrace him, but it was clear that his personality was different—calmer, more reserved. You found that, over time, you felt a quiet connection with him. It wasn’t an in-your-face, loud support, but a steady, reassuring presence.

One evening, after another intense qualifying session, you found yourself walking alone by the garages, replaying every corner of the track in your head. You were exhausted, physically and mentally, but you didn’t want to be a burden to the others, so you walked it off in silence. Franco noticed you from across the paddock and, with a knowing look, excused himself from a conversation he was having with Lando.

When he reached you, there was no fanfare, just a casual ease that made you relax almost immediately.

“Hey, everything okay?” Franco asked, his voice soft yet direct.

You smiled, a little weary, but grateful. “Just thinking about the session. Could’ve done better.”

He shook his head, his lips curling into a small smile. “You did fine. We all have those moments, don’t overthink it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “It’s just… hard sometimes. Being the rookie and feeling like you’re always falling short.”

Franco tilted his head slightly, studying you for a moment before replying. “I get it. I’m still the new guy here too, remember? But honestly, the others are looking out for you. They’ve got your back.”

The way he said it was simple, but there was a sincerity behind it that made something inside you relax. Franco wasn’t offering empty words—he meant it.

And it wasn’t just him. The next time you walked into the paddock and bumped into Max, he clapped you on the shoulder with a grin. “You looked a bit off yesterday. If you need a break, you know where to find me.”

Lando, catching wind of the exchange, chimed in from a few feet away. “Yeah, don’t make us have to drag you into our fun. We’re here for more than just the racing.”

The protectiveness came in waves. Sometimes it was subtle—Charles, pulling you aside to offer advice on staying focused during the race, or Lando, joking around to make you laugh when the stress of the weekend was beginning to get to you. But sometimes, it was a little more overt.

The first time you really felt the weight of their protectiveness was after a particularly tough race, where you finished outside the points. The media was relentless, questions flying about whether you were cut out for the sport, and you could feel the eyes of the paddock on you.

As you were heading back to your garage, head down, trying to shut out the noise, you suddenly felt a hand on your shoulder. It was Max.

“You don’t let them get to you,” he said quietly, looking you in the eyes. “It’s one race. And you’ll get them next time.”

Before you could respond, Lando appeared, his usual grin plastered across his face. “Max is right, of course. And if they keep giving you trouble, just let me know. I’m pretty good at handling the media.”

Charles joined them, his voice more serious than usual. “We’ve all been there. Don’t let them make you doubt yourself. We’re all in this together.”

That was when it hit you—this wasn’t just about the competition on the track. They truly cared about you, and despite the pressures of racing, they weren’t about to let you face it alone.

Franco appeared just as they were finishing up, walking over to the group with a quiet smile. “Everyone’s right,” he added, offering a knowing look. “And if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m always around. No need to fight your battles alone.”

From that moment on, you felt the weight of their protectiveness more than ever. It wasn’t just about them looking out for a rookie; it was about them making sure you knew that no matter what happened, you weren’t alone on the grid.

The bond between you and Franco deepened as the weeks went on. In between races, the two of you shared quiet conversations in the back of the garage, or while waiting for your cars to be prepped. You spoke about everything—racing, family, the weird quirks of the Formula 1 lifestyle, and even the things you’d been avoiding thinking about. Franco’s steady support and dry humor became something you could rely on, and the way he listened without judgment made him one of the few you truly felt comfortable with.

In a world that often felt like a competition to survive, you finally understood: you had people here, and they weren’t just teammates or rivals—they were your family.

And Franco, despite being new to the grid himself, was starting to feel more like a brother than just a teammate.

[emmylksblog]

LOVE RECIPE // HÉCTOR FORT

summary: you and héctor make a big mess trying to bake something edible. the result is obviously awful and you have no other option than stealing his precious shirt. based on this request.

genre: blurb, fluff

warnings: none

a/n: oh to be his gf and steal his oversized shirts... 😔

The plan had been simple: a quiet afternoon at Héctor’s apartment, trying out a new dessert recipe. But, as always, with you and Héctor, things didn’t go as planned.

The kitchen was a complete disaster—flour dusted across the counter, bits of melted chocolate smeared on the tiles, and your shirt was splattered with sticky batter.

Héctor wasn’t much better off, with dough stuck in his hair and a couple of your handprints stamped across his shirt from when you’d “playfully attacked” him.

“Does this count as baking, or just demolishing the kitchen?” you joked, leaning against the counter as you tried—unsuccessfully—to clean off your shirt.

“Definitely the second one,” Héctor replied with a teasing grin, running a hand through his hair only to find the dough still clinging to it.

After a few more minutes of laughter, you both decided it was time to throw your clothes in the wash before the mess dried. A while later, you found yourself rummaging through Héctor’s small wardrobe while he was in the living room, searching for the cake mold you’d both misplaced.

Your shirts were still spinning in the washer, and wearing your sticky, stained one again wasn’t an option. Without much thought, you grabbed one of Héctor’s shirts—a simple black one that had been folded neatly on a chair. It was soft, oversized, and the best part is that it smelled like him.

When you walked back into the kitchen, Héctor was crouched on the floor, picking something up. He glanced up as you entered, and froze for a second, his eyes scanning you from head to toe.

“Is that… my shirt?” he asked, one eyebrow raised, though the grin tugging at his lips made it clear he wasn’t upset.

“And what if it is?” you replied with a mischievous smile, spinning slightly to show off the fit. “My clothes are still in the wash, and I wasn’t about to stay in that sticky vanilla mess.”

Héctor chuckled, leaning against the counter as he crossed his arms. “You look good in it. Too good, actually. Now I’m worried you’ll keep stealing my clothes.”

“Worried?” you teased, stepping closer to him. “I think you secretly love it.”

He let out a soft laugh, his expression shifting from teasing to something gentler as his hands found their way to your hips, pulling you a little closer. “You’re not wrong. It might even suit you better than it suits me.”

You rolled your eyes at him, smiling despite the flutter in your chest. “Then I guess I’m keeping it.”

“Fine,” Héctor murmured, leaning in just enough to brush his nose against yours. The world around you seemed to blur as his lips found yours in a slow, sweet kiss, his fingers lightly tracing your waist.

Just as you were catching your breath, Héctor smirked and grabbed a bit of melted chocolate that was still in the bowl nearby. Before you could react, he swiped his finger across it and dabbed it on your cheek.

“Perfect,” he said with a mischievous grin, admiring his work.

“Héctor!” you gasped, swatting at him as he laughed, clearly enjoying himself.

“You started it baby!” he teased, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

Even as you rolled your eyes again, you couldn’t help but laugh, the warmth between you two filling the messy kitchen with something sweeter than anything you could’ve baked.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for 🦄; Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Go on, pet,” Tim says. “He made you feel so good, didn’t he? Pay him back for it.” 

“Yeah,” Kon croaks, which is the best he’s got, and then has to force himself to tear his attention away from Tim and refocus on Bernard underneath him; stop worrying quite so much about the show they’re putting on for Tim. He’s supposed to pay Bernard back right now; supposed to make Bernard feel nice. 

Not just good–nice. That’s what Tim said. 

And “nice” definitely means giving the guy his full attention. 

“Bernard,” Kon breathes appreciatively, and nuzzles roughly into the crook of the other’s neck again as he grips his ass again too; as he rolls his hips down against Bernard’s and their cocks in against each other and smooths his TTK over every inch of the other’s skin underneath his clothes. As Bernard’s breath catches and his heart rate does a whole lot of real, real interesting things and his dick throbs so hard against Kon’s that he could’ve felt it without his TTK, even with all the guy’s goddamn clothes in the way. “I can pay you back, yeah. You made me feel so good, made me fucking crazy for it. Didn’t even know I’d like it that much before you got inside me.” 

“Jeeeeesus,” Bernard chokes, and Kon nuzzles him harder; wraps his TTK around him tighter and uses it and his body both to pin him down heavy into the mattress–like a useful thing, like something Bernard’d just keep folded up at the foot of his bed and bring out whenever he needed it, something Bernard would appreciate having whenever he needed it, no matter how often that was or wasn’t–and slides an arm underneath the small of the other’s back to grip and just, like–hold him. 

Bernard likes weight, right? Kon can give him weight, and a fucking anchor of a grip besides. 

He slides his TTK under Bernard’s clothes and along his skin again and makes sure to be appreciative about it. Strokes his hips and stomach and chest with it; trails it lightly along the other’s pulse points and up the insides of his thighs, and rubs it in flat little points of pressure in against his nipples and up under the curve of his ass. Bernard squirms in his grip underneath him and says a lot of very, very creative things again, literally every single one of which is probably at least four kinds of blasphemous. 

“Told you how good you feel, right, Bernard?” Kon murmurs into his throat, and Bernard digs his fingers in hard against the back of his neck. Tim said to make him feel nice, and Kon can’t think of a single damn thing nicer than hearing something like that from somebody who’s got their hands on him. “S’real good. Even better when you’re movin’ like this.” 

“Yeah, don’t worry, that’ll be happening a lot,” Bernard pants raspily. Kon gives his cock a brief telekinetic squeeze and then covers it in flexing, rippling pressure and cups and rolls his balls and gets Bernard cursing all over again and bucking up against him. 

It feels real, real good.

[nerdasaurus1200]

A little fix it fic cause the Zaun family deserved a better ending. Also, I just realized, this is my first Arcane fanfic, so I hope y’all like it!

Not Over Yet

“Is that singing I hear?” Caitlyn’s voice pulled Vi away from the fire for a moment. Despite the teasing smile, she still tried to covertly look at the plate on the table beside her partner. The sandwich was half eaten this time. That was at least some progress.

“Oh, yeah. It’s just this..silly little song my mom used to sing to me and Jinx when we were little.” Vi laughed under her breath. It was still a little strange calling her sister that.

“Before she…you know.” Vi looked back at the fire and shrugged, and she could see Caitlyn nodding slightly. The fire was a welcome distraction, but it still put her on edge. It reminded her too much of Vander dy-…of the accident. She swore she could see all their faces in the flames if she looked hard enough. All those she lost…or maybe she was just starting to see things too. Was this how Jinx felt all those years? That weird sense of…of emptiness while never being alone? Like some ghost was always watching over her shoulder?

Well, it wasn’t like she could ask her now.

“How did the service go?” Caitlyn wrapped an arm around Vi and leaned her head on her shoulder.

“Alright.” Vi shrugged again, unable to pull her face away from the flames, “I don’t know how I didn’t break down by the time it was my turn to get up there and spew sappy shit.”

Caitlyn chuckled, a dry and bittersweet sound.

“I think little man’s taking it pretty hard. He couldn’t even look me in the eye.” Vi recalled.

Caitlyn’s brow furrowed for a moment as she took in Vi’s words, trying to think of anything that would provide some comfort, “…I think Ekko just needs a bit of time. We all grieve in different ways.”

“Oh yeah, cupcake, some people go crazy, and other people decide to play dictator and declare martial law.” Vi remarked with a playful glare. Caitlyn huffed affectionately and flicked a strand of Vi’s hair, which in turn made Vi chuckle.

But then as soon as the happiness came, it vanished. It was so hard to be happy these days, with all that had happened.

“Have, uh…have the reports come back yet?” Vi asked cautiously.

Caitlyn’s eyes softened in sadness as she leaned forward to kiss Vi’s cheek, “Still no signs of any remains in the Hexgates. Only the bomb shrapnels we were able to initially recover.”

Vi’s jaw clenched ever so slightly and her eyes hardened for a moment. Damn it all, three times and they still couldn’t find any sign of her family??? Weren’t Enforcers supposed to be good at sticking their nose in stuff like this?

“However, I was looking at the schematics of the Hexgates, and…” Caitlyn let herself trail off as she dropped a piece of paper into Vi’s lap.

Vi’s eyes narrowed as she looked it over, some of it made sense but some of it was just nonsense, “Cupcake, what the hell is this?”

“If you and I know anything about your sister, it’s that she’s always two steps ahead.” Caitlyn pointed out, “The Hexgates have plenty of air ducts that she could’ve used as an escape route and we’d be nonethewiser.”

Vi’s eyes widened as Caitlyn’s implication hung in the air. So Jinx and Vander could be…her family really could be…

“If she’s alive she’ll turn up sooner or later. But we have a lot of work to do until that happens. For Piltover and for Zaun.” Caitlyn spoke softly, a gentle determination in her voice. Vi was helpless to the smirk that appeared on one side of her mouth. There she was, there was the Cupcake she knew.

“…Are you still in this fight, Violet?” Caitlyn couldn’t help but ask. At her question, a fond huff escaped Vi. She turned to look at her partner with a smile as she interlaced their fingers together.

“I am the dirt under your nails, cupcake.” She declared, “Nothing’s gonna clean me out.”

Caitlyn’s eyes sparkled with love, and then she smirked playfully, “That’s Sheriff Cupcake you you, creampuff.”

The couple shared another laugh as their forehead gently pressed together. For a moment, the world fell away…it was just them.

“…could you teach me that song?” Caitlyn asked.

Vi blinked in surprise, and then nodded, “Yeah sure.”

Then she began to sing, “Dear friend, across the river…my hands…are cold and bare…”

~~~~

“Dear friend, across the river, I’ll take…what you can spare…”

Jinx alternated between humming and singing as she steered the airship, just staring out at the horizon before her. She wasn’t even sure how far away from Piltover they were now.

A familiar little shove pulled her attention away however.

“Heyy, do not distract the driver.” Jinx scolded, though her tone betrayed that she wasn’t actually that serious. Not that she ever was.

Janna above, Jinx was more grateful than ever for that mischievous that little smile now. If Ekko hadn’t saved Isha, then, well…

Jinx thought it best not to dwell on that. Or else Mylo might start up again and the last thing she needed was his smart mouth. Either way, she owed Ekko a solid for it. And of course, for helping her steal an airship.

Isha giggled and hugged Jinx, but still made a bit of a stink face as she saw Jinx’s hair.

“What, you don’t like my new haircut?” Jinx teased, and rolled her eyes fondly when Isha shook her head.

“Ah, you’re just mad cause you can’t play jumprope with my braids for a while.” Jinx reached out and gently pushed Isha’s helmet to cover her eyes for a moment. Isha giggled again as she pushed her helmet back up. Jinx stepped back and let Isha take the wheel.

“Sooo, what next Fishbones?” Jinx pulled her shark rocket launcher out.

“We’ll do our laundry, wash the dishes, pay some bills, and get Isha into a good school!” Fishbones ‘spoke’ sounding rather excited about such mundane activities. Isha looked excited too as she steered, while Jinx looked incredibly annoyed.

“Stupid dumb rocket launcher.” She muttered, giving Fishbones a firm smack. At the sound, a rough old growl was heard a few feet away. Neither Jinx nor Isha flinched, they were used to that sound by now.

“Hey, don’t worry, Vander.” Jinx set the rocket launched down and sat beside her adopted father, “We’ll find another way. We always do. In the meantime, Vi can relax a little playing housewife to the Hat Lady.”

Isha pulled a lever near the steering wheel of the airship and moved over to sit next to Jinx and Vander. After she was settled all snug and cozy in Vander’s fur, she signed at Jinx.

“Oh, you want me to keep singing, huh? Mmmm…well alright.” Jinx agreed.

“You still haven’t mentioned where exactly you plan on going.” Silco’s voice could be heard, his hallucination lingering in the shadows by Mylo and Claggor.

Jinx smiled and shrugged in acknowledgement. She still hadn’t quite figured that part out yet. For now, the top priorities were keeping Isha safe, and getting Vander’s mind back.

This time, Jinx chose to ignore Silco for once as she sang, “We raise…no mighty towers, our homes…are built of stone, so come…across the river, and find…the world below…”

[robingoetia12]

I Love You, I’m Sorry

Despite the fact their communication had improved, Blitzø still had his walls up and Stolas didn’t know how to get his boyfriend to open up. But god damn it, he had to try.

Or where Stolas has no idea of the pain Blitzø is hiding and tries to get him to open up, but aren’t drunk words sober thoughts?

Tags: Stolas and Blitzø have made up, Stolas is a worried boyfriend, Blitzø is traumatised, no smut, angst with fluff, mentions of alcohol problems, Blitzø misses his mum, Cash Buckzo is a prick, mentions of abuse

Chapter 1

After Stolas had finally pulled his head out of his cloaca, he and Blitzø had a long talk and finally sorted the shit out in their relationship. Now things were absolutely amazing between them.

Blitzø spent most nights at Stolas’ palace and he even brought Loona with him so she and Via could spend time together. Everything was perfect… Almost.

Despite the fact their communication had improved, Blitzø still had his walls up and Stolas didn’t know how to get his boyfriend to open up. But god damn it he had to try.

Blitzø was never late back to Stolas’. Ever. Every passing minute of the clock and every coffee refill only caused the prince’s mind to increasingly fester with worry. His thoughts kept flashing to every worst possible scenario of what could’ve happened to Blitzø. As his thoughts travelled to the possibility of Striker kidnapping him, the door swung open.

In stumbled Blitzø, clearly drunk. Stolas sighed in relief and walked towards him then crouched to the imp’s level to meet his yellow eyes that were fixed on the floor. “Darling. Where were you? Are you okay?”

Blitzø, unusually silent, wrapped his arms around Stolas’ waist. Stolas hugged him back but then felt him shaking in his grip and then heard quiet sobs coming out of Blitzø’s mouth, the tears soaking the owl’s feathers. And then the frantic mumbling started.

“I’m sorry…”

Stolas tried to pull Blitzø back so he could look at him properly but Blitzø clung to him tighter, his voice rising and cracking more.

“No momma! Please I’m sorry.”

Stolas froze up. Blitzø had never mentioned his mother or any of his family before. “Darling-”

“Mom please! I love you, I’m sorry.”

Stolas knew he wasn’t listening and was too drunk to focus so he scooped his boyfriend up and tucked him into their bed. He headed out to get him a glass of water to sober him up. What he heard next nearly made him drop the glass.

“Dad please don’t! It hurts!”

Stolas nearly let out a hysterical sob but covered his mouth to stop himself so it came out as a quiet, strained cry. He could see that Blitzø had fallen asleep but then heard one more murmur from him.

“Please, I’ll be better… I just want to see Fizz…”

Stolas got into bed next to him and reached out for Blitzø’s spikes on his back and could still feel the shaking from his body and Stolas noticed how he wrapped his tail around himself. He rubbed his back gently to try and soothe him. “I love you darling…”

He couldn’t sleep after that. He kept tossing and turning, desperately trying to figure out what Blitzø went through and how he could help him but thinking about what it could possibly be made his stomach churn.

How did he not notice?

How did he not realise how affected he clearly was by whatever happened to him?

How could he help him open up?

Blitzø woke up the next morning, head pounding. He fell back onto the bed dramatically. “Ugh… I drank way too much last night, fuck…” He turned his head and saw Stolas clinging to him, still asleep. He smiled softly and stroked his feathers and went to check the time and saw it was 9am.

Shit.

He needed to be in the office in 15 minutes. He gently extracted himself out of Stolas’ arms, being careful not to wake him and jumped off the bed seeing his jacket hung on the back of Stolas’ door and pulled it on. Stolas sat up and blinked like a frog, groggily observing Blitzø rush around. “Darling? Everything okay?”

“Yeah… I need to go like now. We have a client who wants us to kill their target in some bullshit way so I gotta go.” He explained whilst opening the door.

Stolas followed him, red dressing gown on and holding the glass of water. “Do you want something to eat before you leave?”

Blitzø turned around. Despite the fact he and Stolas were a couple he still wasn’t used to being cared for. He was used to people leaving him…

“What? Uh no thanks it’s fine I’ll pick something up on the way.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket as he got to the front door. Stolas gently pulled him back.

“Will you at least drink this before you leave? You came home very intoxicated last night. It’ll do you some good.”

Blitzø rolled his eyes and took the glass. “Fine…” He downed the entire thing and then placed on the nearby table. Stolas was still frazzled from last night. He desperately wanted to hold Blitzø and protect him from anything that might hurt him again.

Stolas quickly spoke up before Blitzø left. “You’re coming home tonight aren’t you?” Blitzø looks up at him, holding his keys. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout last night, can’t have been fun to put up with me shit faced.” Stolas bent down and hugged him, mumbling about how he didn’t have to apologise. Blitzø snorted slightly, hugging him back. “Christ on a stick, someone’s all lovey dovey this morning.”

Stolas pulled away and kissed the imp softly on his lips and pressed his forehead against his. “I love you darling…” Blitzø smiled and opened the door. “Love you too, ya dork.” He left and sped away in his van. Stolas sighed heavily as the van disappeared. His heart was in his chest, he didn’t know how to help Blitzø.

But he would do whatever he could to keep him safe and happy.

No matter what.

A/N: Proof read by my sister @charliewalkersgf (she doesn’t even like Helluva Boss so she’s been forced into it lmao 🤣) and thanks for the people who replied to a post I made about the dialogue!! You all were very helpful and creative!!! Hope you enjoyed the fic!!! More chapters to come!!

[merv606]

Any thoughts on Terry being truly scared that he could have lost Daniel (supposing that Daniel was stabbed instead) and he goes to the hospital while Daniel recovers. Danny is surprised at how…soft and gentle Terry is with him, treating him like glass, and realizes that Terry was terrified of losing him.

I’ll try to answer this without having the fill by @thereminwriting influence me too much but I am going to take the idea of Terry being the one who saved him because it adds another layer of 🌶️ to the whole fucked up situation. There may be some overlap with Mercy but, with Silverusso there always is, as the themes with them are always the same.

Link below for her take - a suggestion to read it as it’s brilliant! It will live rent free.

What this ask inspired, while I feel hits some points made in the ask it may ultimately fail to hit the mark for exactly what you were looking for.

“You think you’d be grateful, is all,” Terry says, picking at some imaginary lint on the bed, which is not there. They both know that. The place is pristine, more high end hotel than hospital. The thread count on the bedsheets has to be higher than what he has at home, and he is an admitted snob when it comes to his night time comforts.

“Gratitude?” Daniel says slowly, like he’s both processing what Terry said and also surprised he’d even say it.

If it wasn’t for the dull ache in his side, the way he can feel the stitches and staples pull when he moves he’d do something stupid. As it were though.

“Gratitude, gratitude,” his voice rising, and then suddenly Daniel just deflates, that little bit of anger burning through the little energy he has built up.

That scared Terry more than anything. His boy’s fire was always so bright, so warm to bask in, so strong and big, despite the small frame it lived inside. That was why it came out so often, too big for it’s confines, never truly able to be contained at all times.

A fire that drew Terry to it like a moth to a flame, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it’s seductive allure. Helpless in the knowledge that like the moth stunned and destroyed by the light it sought, he too would die by it’s heat.

He could’ve think of a better way to go though.

Softly, “it’s just another cage, Terry.”

“Never pegged you as the religious type,” Terry says after a few long moments.

He’s not, not really. He goes through the rituals of it - mass on Christmas Eve - stopping only when his kids got older and Amanda admitted she was only going for him, and he had to admit he really didn’t know why he did, except that he did when he was a kid.

Daniel looks at the keychain’s pendant in his hand, the keychain having been ripped off and stretched to pick the lock of the cage, and he hadn’t even realized, at the time when he bought it what it was, he had simply handed the kid over some money.

He only kept it because he considered it a lucky charm of sorts considering, what it saved him from - that belief was cemented by the fact it was in the pockets of the leggings he wore under his GI when this happened.

A coincidence, he’s sure, but still, he thinks he needs all the help he can get. He’s probably in the most danger right now, after all.

It had been placed on the bedside table, and it was one of the first things he saw when he woke, and when he groggily reached for it, Terry had stilled him, telling him not to move, placing it the palm of his hand.

Here now, he turns it over in his hand.

Even you can’t save me now, Daniel thinks.

Sitting in a hospital paid for by Terry - his life forfeit it wasn’t for Terry.

His life forfeit all the same.

All the same.

More like delayed, all things considered.

Because now he owes Terry.

He owes Terry a debt he cannot possibly repay.

He wonders how Terry will try to collect; what he stands to gain.

“I must say, I was surprised to learn of your skills.”

“I’m from jersey,” Daniel answers absently. “Of course I know how to pick locks.”

Terry chuckles but then the doctor comes in and like always, Daniel is not made privy to the decisions. Everything in Terry’s hands which, as much as he hates that, they have proved to be quite capable.

He’s alive because of them.

——————————

When a few weeks have passed, he finally gathers the courage to watch the video, and for the first time he sees Terry, how he was saved, how calm Terry was, how efficient, how …. Not what Daniel expected.

He doesn’t know what to feel, not only about watching himself get hurt but about Terry. The feed had cut rather quickly all the same. He doesn’t know why, but he hits replay.

Terry comes in, and freezes, grabbing the tablet from Daniel, shattering it against the wall. A nurse rushes in, and Terry barks something to her as he strides out, and after she cleans the mess, she injects something into his IV bag. He doesn’t bother asking, they never tell him.

Terry finally reappears as the drugs settle through him. Daniel can feel them as they move through his blood, dulling everything further, the pain never truly gone, leaving behind heavy limbs and bad coordination, but a sense of peace even as he feels the bed dip and Terry’s side press flush to his. Daniel goes slack against the older man, his weight fully pressed against him until Terry is the very thing holding him up.

Terry puts Daniel’s hand in his, the only apology he’ll get for the outburst, the thumb rubbing the skin.

“My team will have it removed,” Terry explains, like they do anytime a new one pops up, and although Terry knows he can’t get rid of it entirely, it helps. Having something he can control.

Daniel, after all, makes him feel so out of control.

Daniel, after all, had never made him feel so scared.

All the blood that was already arising the Matt by the time Terry got to him, and it had only taken moments.

The knife - Kreese’s knife - embedded deep - and the white of Daniel’s skin as more blood appeared, watching life drain out of him right before his eyes.

Something that only hit Terry after. Terry only allowing it to hit him after, needing to, in that moment, focus on saving Daniel.

Not willing to accept anything else.

You can lose something you never really had.

But Daniel will be now. Something he has. Finally. And Terry will be damned if he’ll lose it.

———————————

“I can’t believe you put me in a dog cage,” Daniel grumbles as he eats his steak and buttered lobster.

Well he can, but a part of him can’t - won’t - examine it too closely. The same coping mechanism he’s been using when it comes to Terry for thirty years now. It mostly proves successful,

“Danny,” he starts.

“Thought that would, what? Make me submit? Like before.”

A deep sigh, and really Terry has no right sound that put upon.

He wasn’t the one locked in a dog cage.

“Of course you would see it like that.” Both exasperated yet fond.

“How should I see it?!”

At first you would think humiliation, and Terry’s attempt to install fear in Daniel - the same fear Terry felt but, that wasn’t it - not at all.

Nothing could be further for the truth.

It was protection.

Cages keep things in, but they also keep them out.

They keep things safe.

They keep them from leaving.

He actually hadn’t wanted Daniel to wake up until reaching the desired destination.

“I fear cages,” Terry starts but stops, not sure what to say, off kilter in a way only Daniel manages to do to him.

“Why do you fear cages?”

The story pours out, and Daniel sits, stunned.

He had no idea. At all.

Terry’s loyalty to Kreese makes so much sense now. As does their falling out. Which has hardened into hate since the accident.

Part of Terry blames Kreese.

It was his knife after all.

“He always tries to destroy the good things in my life.”

It not only makes sense but Daniel realizes, with a clarity he wouldn’t before, as he too carries that same burden now. Carries the same mixed feelings about being indebted to someone you do not wish to be indebted to.

An understanding, a part of him connected to Terry.

A part of himself that will never belong to him again.

———————————-

He protested in the beginning, Terry helping him change, but now he doesn’t; there would be no point.

He winces, the scar twisting, so new it’s still more deep purple, the skin too tight from where he was sewed and stitched back together.

Terry frowns, his hand touching it, and Daniel flinches; he can’t help it. Even he doesn’t even like touching it himself

It feels wrong - foreign. It feels like a change he didn’t want but will have no choice but to accept.

Isn’t that Terry whoever he comes into Daniel’s life.

It feels like the situation he finds himself in.

It looks ugly, even if he knows in time it will fade to pink and then further still until it’s faded to the point that it nearly matches his skin

He knows he should be grateful to be alive, to be here, even if here is with Terry.

He knows all of this but still, he will carry a piece of this always.

He carrie enough of Terry around with him - he has for thirty years.

The older man’s fingers are so damm gentle as they trace the new skin forming, solidifying into something permanent.

Everything about Terry has been so damm gentle.

All his touches, all the looks directed at Daniel, even when Terry thinks Daniel isn’t paying attention.

Terry helps him into his shirt.

————————————-

“Why?” Daniel asks when he finally gathers the courage. The thing that took him the longest to do.

“I wasn’t about to let you die, Daniel,” Terry nearly scoffs. “I’m not that much of ….”

“I know,” Daniel interrupts.

And he does. Truly. Terry is a Bond villain, and like all Bond villains, he lives to monologue and come up with elaborate plots, plots he knows, deep down, won’t work.

Just like they know Bond will walk away each time, that they want him to, so does Terry.

Because If you really want someone gone, it’s not hard. Simple is best.

If you truly want to win, that is.

But the winning isn’t the point. The end isn’t the point, because it’s not even a journey.

It’s a game, and it’s the fun in playing the game.

But when you take out the opponent, and you win the game, oh how you stop having fun.

Because the opponent was what you actually wanted all along, this game, was the only way to get that.

Something almost ruined this ages old ritual, something the villain hadn’t planned himself, hadn’t even accounted for.

“Why all this?” Daniel gestures around. It certainly is above and beyond. Putting aside the part Daniel can never hope to possibly repay, can’t even begin to, the money alone Terry has spent is astronomical, and shows no signs of stopping. The money Terry has assured Daniel he does not want, nor does he seem to even care about.

They stare at each other.

“I think you know,” is all Terry says, and it’s not cryptic, not at all.

Because Daniel thinks he does too.

Daniel thinks, he always did.

—————-

The plastic surgeon is flown in.

Daniel is fine with the scar.

It’s Terry that hates it.

It reminds him of too much.

The overwhelming fear in the days after, the unbridled anger at it even happening. Something Terry has been felt before.

How he had failed.

How he had almost lost something, that while never was his, was something he had never wanted more.

How he would have lost everything all the same, had Daniel not pulled through.

No.

No part of his boy is to be reminded of this.

No part of him will be marked by any man but Terry.

If his body is to change now, to open and accept anything inside, to be split open, to bleed, it will be by Terry’s doing.

And it will be by pleasure and not pain.

——————————————

The night he wakes to Terry sitting in the side of the hospital bed, everything dark expect for the light of the moon filtering in through the near floor to ceiling windows, is the night he really sees.

The older man’s back is to him, and although everything is silent, eerily so, he can tell Terry is crying.

Daniel sits up, hand holding onto his side, where he thinks it will always twinge slightly, although it’s more a habit now than a need, and the fact that Terry doesn’t turn to him, doesn’t hone in on the fact he’s awake and moving adds to the wrongness of this whole thing.

He gently and slowly lays a hand on the older man’s shoulder, not wanting to spoke him, he’s clearly out of it, and in an even softer tone, the ones he’d use on his kids when they were younger and upset, he asked, “Terry?”

Daniel expects the older man to get up, leave, but instead a large hand comes up and covers him.

They say nothing, but then Terry’s hand squeezes his, and in a broken voice finally speaks.

“I could have lost you.”

Terry made a mistake.

A mistake he can’t fix. - not now. Because he’s in too deep, because he loves Daniel.

And this, this was never the plan, all those years ago. To fall for the boy …. to fall again for the man the boy became.

Because when you love something, you now have something that can destroy you.

Destroy you without even meaning too.

Daniel would have destroyed him, without even trying.

Destroyed Terry in away that he would not have been able to rebuild himself from.

Even a phoenix eventually loses its will to rise again.

A world with Daniel is not one Terry wishes to be in. He tried, for thirty years, and it was no life at all. It certainly wasn’t living.

He got it back though, that feeling of being alive, but oh, what he traded for it. Because now he has this fear, heavy on his chest.

This fear of losing something you cannot replace.

When he looks down, sometimes he can still see the blood on his hands.

“You didn’t though.”

Daniel kneels, his chest to Terry’s back, his head on his shoulder, thin arms wrapped around the older man.

“You saved me.”

He had.

Terry had battled death with his bare hands for Daniel and won. But one day, one day …..

“We saved each other,” is all Terry says, focusing on that to stave off the panic.

“Let’s focus on that,” Daniel says, nuzzling his cheek into his shoulder. Terry can feel the warmth of his breaths gaunt his neck.

Plastered against his back, Daniel moves with Terry almost, to the feel the rise and fall of Terry’s breathing. Terry can feel the beat of Daniel’s heart, they’re pressed so tight.

Concentrating on that. On the moment. On what he can control in the here and now.

The dread subsides, for now, even if Terry knows it has simply retreated.

The moonlight shines down on them, this moment in time, and they stay like that until the sun chases it away, illuminating the sins instead.

———————-

“Oh god,” a breathy little moan, as Terry’s cock slides home, opening Daniel to him.

Four fingers, four of Terry’s thick fingers, and his mouth, had put the time in to get Daniel here like this, body open enough to accept the older man inside him; to accept his love.

Like a virgin on a mound, about to be offered up as sacrifice, this is how he will repay Terry.

Daniel arches up, legs squeezing tighter to the older man’s sides as his eyes squeeze shut, blunt fingernails drawing down a broad pale back.

They’ll both bleed for this tonight.

They’ll always bleed for each other.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Terry groans, and Daniel kisses him, only because he can’t handle much more.

He can’t handle Terry here inside him like this - how good it feels - how right it feels - and hear the raw truth in Terry’s voice.

He can’t.

His body is already the temple Terry is about to worship at - to ruin and rebuild - his body the vessel for this offering of his.

He knows his heart and soul will follow suit. If he was being honest with himself, something he seldom is, they already have.

The older man will accept nothing else. Daniel finds he wants nothing else.

Hands roaming, touching warm sweat slick skin, sharing the air moving between them.

The older man so damn gentle as he keeps sliding in.

Daniel finding within himself, to somehow open more and more, until Terry’s cock is all the way in, both men joined as one.

Terry carving a spot for himself that only he will be able to fill.

Hips snapping in, the wet noises of their coupling, the pin pricks of pleasure when the older man’s cock brushes his prostate, the sharp grin, like a shark sensing blood in the water as Terry concentrates on hitting that spot.

Hands pins above his head, Daniel opening his eyes at the older man’s command, Terry staring down.

“I love you. So much, Danny. So damm much,” he groans, rocking in, burying his face into the smaller man’s neck.

The slapping noise of skin on skin as he’s taken, as Terry chases his release, both of their releases, in each other.

Hands grab slim hips, feeling the bone under his palm, fingers digging in, greedy and covetous, but Daniel can feel the love even if he can also feel the bruises it is leaving.

Love with teeth, it suits them.

Always did.

And a love that leaves marks from those teeth, stained red with blood.

A love that is visible - a mixture of pleasure and pain, sometimes in equal measure.

That is them.

“Oh,” he sobs out as he comes in the space between them, not even a hand on his cock needed.

The clenching of his body, already a tight and perfect fit around Terry’s cock, is the older man’s undoing, and his hand grasps the smaller man’s side, covering the now barely visible scar, as empties himself inside the smaller body.

Daniel’s legs fall off his sides, splayed open obscenely as Terry fills and fills and fills him. He moans softly at the sensation of Terry’s come inside him, which doesn’t seem to be stopping, the warming blooming through him as his hips keep gently fucking in, making sure it’s as deep as it can go, making sure Daniel is even more full than he thought possible.

Finally finished, Terry collapses on top of Daniel, careful as he does though. He’s always careful with his boy, even if sometimes it’s his own personal brand of it.

He doesn’t bother to pull out, loathe to leave Daniel’s body until he absolutely has to, even if he is eager to see the mess he’s left his boy in.

There is always later for that.

They have that luxury of later now.

Who would have thought that here, of all places, a second, third, and fourth chance.

Terry’s lost count.

As many as they need to get it right.

Terry will see to that.

[omilkandhoneyteao]

I need to add on to the Viktor thing cause that’s literally my man and the direction they went with him is something I can’t grasp

ARCANE SEASON 2 SPOILERS

I’m sorry but the machine herald wasn’t even machine, it was magic!!! He’s not the Magic Herald, he’s the machine herald and yet they didn’t include any of that??

Correct me if I’m wrong because I don’t play League but isn’t the Machine Herald’s whole thing still being a man but wanting to IMPROVE humanity by taking away their weaker parts by exchanging them for machinery? And yet, in arcane, he doesn’t give a fuck and is just turning in to the people he “helped” in to mindless husks? Also when he got blown to bits by Jayce, I really thought he was gonna replace himself with mechanical parts but NO THEY JUST MADE HIM EVEN MORE MAGIC???

Like it’s so weird that they also kinda tried to make it seem like it was Viktor’s fault for becoming what he became when like

That man just wanted to get better??? Like the scenes with Jayce were sweet but the whole “you were trying to perfect yourself” NO SIR HE WANTED TO STOP AN ILLNESS THAT WAS CAUSING A SLOW AND PAINFUL DEATH??? Like idk if people realize this but Viktor was GRIEVING like he found out he was dying which is a gigantic pill to swallow and clearly he wasn’t in his right state of mine and then when he finally accepted his fate, his already short life span was cut SHORTER by the explosion and even then, I feel like it was the scene with the hexcore that took away HIS choice of 1) wanting to just die and 2) destroying the hexcore!

I also fully believe that while Viktor was doing bad things, I think the Arcane was a corrupt form of magic (we’ve seen that there IS good magic like Mel’s) and it was corrupting Viktor in a way that made him think what he was doing was the ONLY way and that he HAD to do because again, he wasn’t in a clear state of mind so I fully believe that he was aware of what he was doing but he truly believed this was the ONLY way (like I’ve mentioned earlier it’s so similar to Wanda with the Darkhold and how it was corrupting her when she was at her most vulnerable by showing her what she wanted and that by doing all those bad things, it’s the only way she could get her wish)

Another thing I hated was them revealing that the Mage wasn’t Ryze (IT SHOULD’VE BEEN HE WOULD’VE MESHED SO WELL WITH THE STORY) but Viktor and that he just kept going back in time so Jayce could stop him which is so ???

Like I’m sorry but that’s literally so dumb because it just makes the world of Arcane seem even smaller! Like the way season 2 has been trying to make connections that didn’t need to be there makes it seem like Piltover and Zaun as a whole have a population of 30!

Like it would’ve been so much sweeter (lowkey power of friendship type ship but I’ll leave it at that) if Jayce and Viktor CHOSE to be partners and brothers and friends and whatever it is you see them as and that it wasn’t forced because of “fate” but because of THEIR choice! Like it lowkey just takes away the characters autonomy cause it’s like “well yeah you actually didn’t pick this person it was predestined!!!”

It’s just so disheartening because Viktor is such a good character and to just take away all the good things they could’ve done with him is just upsetting.

[mistake-responsibility]

[ ROLL: 4 - Fail. ] Oh, no. He knows this trick, he knows this. He’ll admit to everything and he’ll screw himself over like he always does. All he has to do is keep his damn mouth shut and they won’t catch him, not at all, they don’t actually know, they

[ ROLL: 2 - Fail. ] The words get jumbled with his mouth and head, things he means to say in bits and pieces interspersed with what should have only been thought. It flows out like a fucking creek. He can’t stop himself.

“ No. No, no, no, you’re fucking- corporate, fucking spies, fucking feds, god I fucking hate feds, you’re trying to- no, there’s some fucking law against that-? This is space… whos to say if it applies… I can’t, I’m not incriminating myself, I didn’t even, I only ever meant to hurt HER of all people, she was fucking annoying, I just, she was fucking USELESS, had to be something she could do and she fucked that up, and that stupid fucking HORSE won’t shut up, like it even MEANT anything.”

Jimmy is still kicking all the while, but it doesn’t do shit.

“ He fucking thinks it’s on par with actual murder, like he knows something I don’t, stupid fucking horse, she’s alive and V isn’t and I’m fucking dealing with it, I have to. The fuck- Curly wasn’t, wasn’t ever going to call her family, I had to, I had to tell them, she was so fucking mad, god I hate that phone ringing, I still hear it, fucking bitch, I don’t get it, she acts like I didn’t suffer either, like I don’t see V in the halls, like she doesn’t try to pull me apart, it fucking hurts, god, I had been clean for years and this is how it gets ruined, it wasn’t even my fault, I had to. If I didn’t, he would’ve, I didn’t want to waste his time, even if I did anyways, he showed me what I needed to do, I keep doing it, over and over every time I see her, more a piece of meat than a person anymore.”

“ Ed- he wasn’t even my fault, I didn’t- I didn’t even touch him, I don’t know why he- I had to do something. He was dead, I didn’t know what to do, I was fixing everything and he fucking- he died, he offed himself, I had to hide him, I couldn’t let anyone see, they would’ve lost it, and if I found him people would ask, and. He fucking made fun of me, taunted me for doing it, I tore myself open hiding him and he still laughed, I was doing him a fucking favor, it wasn’t even my fault that time.”

“ I paid my fucking price, none of you even get it, I know what I’m going to be, I have to do it eventually, even if I don’t want to, I’m going to ruin everything, it’s not a fucking choice I get, I don’t want to, I don’t want to do it to him again, it looked like it hurt, I did Curls a fucking favor, he asked me to. He said he was shocked I hadn’t killed him yet so I fucking offered. God, god, he was always a better man than me, a better captain, I had to. He said yes. He wanted me to fucking kill him, it had to hurt, it hurt but he was fucking silent, we talk still. He made fun of me but I just wanted to fucking help, I even- I even finished the job for him, killed myself, I don’t get it, I shouldn’t- I did everything he asked for- I deserved it, I know, I ruined him, I offered to make it painless but he didn’t take it. The oxy was strong, I’m sure he knew, I don’t… it’s not fucking fair, he was always better than me. I just wanted to play him music, I didn’t even know he was Curly, I didn’t even know he was the captain, and I’m fucking sorry, I told him, I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt him, not once ever. I’ve always wanted to but that was too far, I never wanted him hurt, I had to fix it, his eye, his fucking eye, god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry Curly, I just wanted to talk, I never meant it, I’m sorry, I couldn’t even smother you right, I’m fucking sorry, I’m sorry captain, I deserved it, should’ve stayed dead, should’ve taken, I knew when I overdosed it should’ve worked, waste of resources, you could’ve used them, I’m so fucking sorry Curly, I never meant to be here, I should be dead, I’m sorry, captain, better man than me, I love you, I’m so fucking sorry. I should’ve- it should’ve been me, I should’ve been ruined, when I crashed, it’s my fault, I should’ve killed us all right, I ruined everything-”

He keeps rambling on, apologies to a man who’s still alive about something he hasn’t even done yet. About crashing the ship because of Her, about ruining everything, about failing to kill everyone when he should have.

About how he has to do it again.

( @number-one-constellation-guide )

Five minutes to DISCIPLINARY ACTION.

The halls echo with furious, heavy footsteps. Wolfrum stalks through the ship, silent, lacking any of his joyous delight or humor. Ironically, his expression mirrors the common iconography of a wolf now, more than ever before.

He clutches the Pony Express approved gun in his left hand, finger soundly on the trigger, and the safety already off.

Pure rage. There's no other description for how he feels. There's nothing less than a hate brewing inside of him, that quickly breeds a mechanical, professional dissociation.

It must be done. There's nothing else to say on the matter - it must be done. It's protocol. It's called for. It's what's good for the group as a whole. The crew can't possibly function with such a danger on board, and they can't be expected to handle it themselves. When he took this role with Pony Express, Wolfrum promised to go toe to toe with any danger he needed to take out, and he meant every word of that promise. Any. Danger.

Which includes this disgusting, rotten, horrible one.

The only thing between him and ripping apart the very walls of the ship to get to that little rat is the navigator in front of him. Perri's dedication to doing things by the script - and not possibly causing a rip in the space-time-anomalous ship which may or may not be facing space at any point in time.

(- @surprise-its-safety-violations , @number-one-constellation-guide )

Behind the sealed door of the cockpit, Jimmy sits with his knees to his chest on the captain's seat. Taser in one hand, rope in the other. They always expect to be attacked from the side when they come in. The front will be a new change. He's a smaller man, he knows how to hide inside Curly's shadow. He's done it for years.

It would probably be easier to steer the ship into oncoming danger, but there... wasn't any. He thought about it, truly, but the option just wasn't there. Space was being space: vast and empty as always.

All his notions of perceived persecution in the past prepared him for this. (He wonders how Curly will feel walking into the cockpit and seeing Jimmy's brains splattered across the screens.) He always knew this was where he was going to be, and figures this was where he was going to stay. (Maybe he could choke Wolfrum out.) That door wasn't opening unless forced, Jimmy wasn't moving unless forced. (Maybe being pistol-whipped into the darkness would be a fucking mercy.)

Really, he was just thinking about all the ways he could die and all the ways someone else could die. It wasn't how he planned on spending his evening, but he often spent them like this anyways, so where's the harm it in. Besides, you know, the weapons and plans to murder people.

@number-one-constellation-guide

[local-ragamuffin]

Worst. Possible time. For me to have trouble with words. Fuck. God dammit.

[creativity-deficient]

Why are people always so shocked when South Park handles a topic well?? I’ll see so many articles that are like “wow even SOUTH PARK is calling you guys out” tf you mean? They’ve BEEN doing this??

[dykedvonte]

A Defense of Benny Gecko

Benny is more of a capable leader and person than people give him credit for.

Seeing as no one challenged his position as head Chairmen for 7 years and even then he only loses the position if he’s caught, killed or forced to leave. Yes, it’s also likely House wouldn’t have allowed him to be killed but he sure as hell would of found a way to remove him if he was causing too much unrest within The Tops power structure. Even Swank and Tommy don’t outright dislike him and more so are concerned with his recent secretive and shady behavior, emphasis on recent.

Taking all we know into consideration, Benny likely knew the future direction that he wanted to take Vegas but was so caught up in the plans to acquire Vegas that he didn’t think of how to make his dream a reality. Something he admits to in canon. I see this being used as the main argument that Benny doesn’t know what he’s doing at all but I see it more in the same vein as you can’t really plan something from nothing. The transformation of Vegas is a sensitive thing that he can’t really work on until he has it. The only reason he ran to the Fort prematurely is the Courier who was causing so much of a stir he would’ve likely been found out much faster, making all that planning for nothing if he didn’t take that chance.

Benny is careful (well a lot more careful than he is regularly depicted in fanon), the Courier being able to trace him was dumb luck on their part and his hair being noticed at the Fort is a realistically small oversight that even Caesar is disappointed in because he admits Benny got farther than he should’ve been allowed by his legionaries. The fact he can plan an ambush on the Courier or tries to quickly and concisely clean up lose ends that don’t lead back to him shows he’s not just acting on impulses or in the moment decisions. Or rather he’s quite good at thinking them out, whether they work depends on how you play really. This is all to say it’s 100% believable that Benny could lead an independent Vegas (house was basically setting him up to do that). If he had known explicitly that House was setting him up to replace him, he likely would’ve bought more time by getting in closer, learning more of the system to then flip House’s edge to his favor. Again something he was doing already but likely without the knowledge of House’s feelings on him personally.

No matter what, Vegas’ future was tied to Benny; House’s plans for him, having to get the chip and if he had somehow succeeded. It’s also interesting that of all the people vying for control of the dam/Vegas, Benny’s plans are the only ones actually oriented towards a new future, not a recreation of something long past.

[deus-ex-mona]

honeypre walked so meoto could run

[weezerlvr228]

flippin boobahs!

[exopelagic]

okay I severely misjudged spaghetti guy he’s actually just really cool

[ninjagotohell]

I just read a whole wacky thread of people arguing which parent was bad Garmadon or Misako and I’m no longer scared of the Misako defenders