#I understand now...This is the true anguish of the Passion...!

[muiitoloko]

Can I say I liked your one shot "Trust"? That was so good, and I really hope you do a sequel to this, I think we need more real relationships, you know? Not just fairy tales, but relationships with conflicts, arguments and passion of course.

Title: The king and the lioness.

Summary: Lionel Shabandar is determined to fight for his marriage and take care of his lioness.

Pairing: Lionel Shabandar × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fight, distrust, frustration, fear, anguish and Smut.

Author's Notes: Thank you very much for your request, I'm glad you liked "Trust". It wasn't my favorite writing, but knowing that someone liked it makes me look at this one shot with new eyes.

First, Second and Third part here.

Lionel took a deep breath, trying to contain the frustration and sadness that threatened to overwhelm him once again. He watched as you scrolled through his cell phone, the tension in the room palpable as he struggled to find the right words to express his feelings.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, Lionel pinched the bridge of his nose and walked over to sit next to you on the couch. "Did you find what you were looking for?" he questioned, his voice tinged with resignation.

You practically shoved your cell phone in his face, your eyes blazing with accusation as you demanded answers. "Who is she, Lionel?" you demanded, your voice trembling with anger and hurt.

Lionel sighed heavily, his patience wearing thin as he glanced at the screen of his cell phone. "Ah, her," he muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Well, congratulations, you finally found out. That's my lover."

Your eyes widened in shock, disbelief written across your features as you stared at Lionel in horror. "Your... your lover?" you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. "But how could you... how could you do this to me?"

Lionel rolled his eyes at your reaction, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "Oh, for God's sake, are you really that dense?" he snapped, his tone sharp with annoyance. "I was being sarcastic, you imbecile."

But you didn't see beyond the sarcasm, your mind clouded by hurt and betrayal as you dropped his cell phone, the device clattering to the floor as you recoiled from him in disgust. "You... you miserable bastard," you seethed, your voice trembling with emotion. "I knew it! I knew you were cheating on me!"

Lionel ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched on his features as he struggled to make you understand. "For the love of... I'm not cheating on you," he insisted, his voice tinged with exasperation. "That woman is my new assistant. She's been working with me for two weeks now."

But your mind was clouded by doubt and insecurity, unable to see past the pain of betrayal that consumed you. "I don't believe you," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the turmoil raging within you. "I can't believe you."

Lionel's frustration reached its breaking point, his patience wearing thin as he watched you retreat further into your doubts. "Fine, don't believe me," he snapped, his tone laced with bitterness. "What's the point anyway? You never trust me, no matter what I say or do."

With a heavy sigh, he rose from the couch, his movements brisk and determined as he made his way to the door. "I need some air," he muttered, his voice heavy with resignation. "Don't wait up for me."

As Lionel disappeared through the doorway, leaving you alone with your doubts and insecurities, you felt a pang of regret wash over you. But it was too late to take back your words, too late to undo the damage that had been done.

And as you sank onto the couch, tears streaming down your cheeks, you couldn't help but wonder if this was the beginning of the end for your relationship with Lionel.

You picked up the cell phone again, your fingers trembling as you scrolled through the call history. There were indeed numerous calls between Lionel and the woman in question, but no messages exchanged. Could it be true that she was his new assistant? You had no reason to doubt it, yet the nagging voice of insecurity persisted in your mind.

Despite knowing that Lionel was a changed man, his past reputation as a womanizer lingered in your thoughts like a dark cloud. His status as one of the richest and most sought-after individuals in the country only fueled your doubts further. You hated yourself for doubting him, for letting your insecurities poison your relationship.

Meanwhile, Lionel walked the streets, the cool night air doing little to ease the turmoil raging within him. Why did he always find himself in these situations? He should have remained single, free from the constant scrutiny and distrust that plagued his marriage. At least then, he could indulge in the pleasures of the flesh without the burden of a fractured relationship weighing him down.

Lionel couldn't remember the last time he had gone without sex for so long. If you weren't fighting over your distrust, you were too consumed by your own issues to even consider satisfying his needs. It was a vicious cycle that left him feeling frustrated and unfulfilled, trapped in a marriage that seemed to offer little in the way of intimacy or affection.

As he wandered the streets aimlessly, Lionel couldn't shake the feeling of suffocation that threatened to engulf him. He longed for release, for an escape from the constant pressure and scrutiny that seemed to follow him wherever he went. But deep down, he knew that running away wouldn't solve anything. He had made a commitment to you, and he intended to honor it, no matter how difficult it might be.

With a heavy heart, Lionel turned back towards home, his mind racing with thoughts of how to mend the rift that had formed between you. He knew that rebuilding your trust would take time and patience, but he was willing to do whatever it took to make things right. After all, you were the love of his life, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing you.

Lionel entered the mansion, the weight of the evening's events heavy on his shoulders. As he walked through the front door, he found you still sitting on the couch, your eyes red and swollen from crying. Without a word, you stood up, your arms extending towards him in a silent plea for comfort.

With a heavy heart, Lionel approached you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. "I'm sorry, my love," he murmured, his voice filled with remorse. "I hate seeing you like this. I never wanted to hurt you."

You buried your face in his chest, seeking solace in his familiar embrace. "I'm sorry too, Lionel," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I don't want to doubt you, I really don't. But I can't help it."

Lionel held you tighter, his hand gently stroking your back in a soothing gesture. "We have to stop this, my dear," he murmured, his voice tinged with urgency. "All this distrust is tearing us apart. I won't betray you, I promise. You have to trust me."

You nodded against his chest, wanting desperately to believe his words. "I want to trust you, Lionel," you admitted, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "I really do. But... but I'm scared. I'm scared of getting hurt again. I'm a coward."

Lionel's heart ached at the vulnerability in your voice, his own doubts and insecurities momentarily forgotten as he focused on comforting you. "You're not a coward, my dear," he reassured you, his voice soft and reassuring. "You're brave, stronger than you know. And together, we'll find a way to overcome this."

You drew back slightly, meeting Lionel's gaze with tear-filled eyes. "How can you be so sure?" you questioned, your voice wavering with doubt.

Lionel cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the tears that stained your cheeks. "Because I love you," he declared, his voice unwavering. "And I'll do whatever it takes to earn your trust back. No matter how long it takes, no matter how difficult it may be."

You felt a flicker of hope ignite within you, a glimmer of light in the darkness of your doubts. "I want to believe you, Lionel," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I really do."

Lionel leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin in a silent promise. "Then let's work through this together," he murmured, his voice filled with determination. "I won't give up on us, my love. I promise."

As you melted into his embrace, the weight of your doubts and insecurities began to lift, replaced by the warmth of Lionel's unwavering love and devotion. In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, bound by a love that was as enduring as it was unbreakable.

The days passed, and Lionel's efforts to rebuild the trust in your marriage seemed to yield little progress. Despite his unwavering commitment to you, doubts continued to linger in your mind, casting a shadow over your relationship.

Lionel found himself growing increasingly frustrated and tired as he struggled to navigate the rocky terrain of your marriage. There were moments when he questioned whether it was all worth it, whether the constant turmoil and distrust were too great a burden to bear.

Today was one of those moments. He awoke in the middle of the night from a vivid dream, his body stirred with desire, his erection straining against the fabric of his boxers. In a moment of impulsiveness, he reached out to wake you, whispering in your ear and trying to seduce you into making love.

"My love, I need you," he murmured, his hand gently caressing your arm.

But instead of responding to his touch with warmth and desire, you pushed him away, your irritation evident in the sharpness of your voice. "Not now, Lionel," you snapped, your tone tinged with annoyance. "I'm tired, and I just want to sleep."

Lionel felt a pang of disappointment and frustration wash over him at your rejection, but he refused to give up so easily. Ignoring your protests, he tried to insist, his baritone voice filled with longing. "Please, my dear, just this once," he pleaded, his hand reaching out to touch you once more.

But your irritation only seemed to intensify at his persistence, your voice growing sharper as you pushed him away once again. "I said no, Lionel," you snapped, your frustration boiling over. "I'm not in the mood, and I don't appreciate you trying to force me into something I don't want."

Lionel recoiled at the harshness of your words, feeling a surge of hurt and humiliation wash over him. He couldn't understand why you were pushing him away, why you seemed so unwilling to meet his needs. Wasn't marriage supposed to be about compromise and mutual satisfaction?

With a heavy sigh, Lionel reluctantly backed off, his desire waning in the face of your rejection. He knew that trying to push you further would only make things worse, so he decided to take care of himself instead. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing.

As he made his way to the bathroom, Lionel couldn't shake the feeling of rejection that gnawed at his heart. Three months without intimacy, three months of being denied the one thing he craved most. It was a bitter pill to swallow, especially for a man who had never gone so long without sex in his life.

With a heavy heart, Lionel closed the bathroom door behind him, his movements mechanical as he prepared to relieve himself. It was a poor substitute for the real thing, but it would have to do for now.

But as he began to touch himself, a wave of self-pity washed over him, and Lionel found himself overcome with emotion. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, his chest tightening with the weight of his despair. Was this what his life had come to? Pleasuring himself in the bathroom like a teenager?

He sniffled, trying to hold back the tears, but they came anyway, hot and salty against his cheeks. Oh God, was he crying? This was pathetic, utterly pathetic. Men didn't cry, especially not over something as trivial as lack of sex.

Lionel tried to wipe away his tears with his arm, but his efforts were futile. He felt utterly defeated, utterly worthless. The first woman he had ever truly loved had rejected him, pushed him away like he was nothing. It was a blow to his pride, to his masculinity.

But just as he was about to give in to his despair, he felt a pair of hands on his back, and Lionel's embarrassment intensified. He tried to compose himself, to hide his tears from you, but it was too late.

"Are you okay, Lionel?" you asked, your voice filled with concern as you wrapped your arms around him from behind, pulling him into a comforting embrace.

Lionel tried to brush off your concern, to push you away like he always did when he was vulnerable. "I'm fine, my dear," he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "Just... just go back to sleep."

But you ignored his protests, holding him tighter as you pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. "No, I'm not going to leave you like this," you insisted, your voice soft and reassuring. "Tell me what's wrong, Lionel. I want to help."

Lionel hesitated, torn between his pride and his desperation for comfort. But in the end, he couldn't keep up the facade any longer. With a heavy sigh, he finally admitted the truth, his voice trembling with emotion. "I feel rejected, my love," he confessed, his words raw with pain. "For three months, you've been pushing me away, and it hurts. I just... I just wanted to be intimate with you. I just wanted to feel you, to feel close to you. I just wanted... I just wanted fucking sex!"

The words spilled out of him like a dam bursting, his pent-up frustration and despair flooding out in a torrent of emotion. He felt utterly exposed, utterly vulnerable, but at the same time, a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. It was liberating, in a way, to finally let go of his pride and admit his deepest fears and insecurities to you.

You held him tighter, your arms wrapped around him in a comforting embrace as you whispered soothing words of reassurance. "I'm sorry, Lionel," you murmured, your voice thick with regret. "I didn't realize how much I was hurting you. I promise, things will be different from now on. I'll make it up to you, I swear."

Lionel didn't respond at first, still feeling a sense of vulnerability and embarrassment for breaking down in front of you. But when he felt your hand wrap around his still throbbing length, all coherent thought seemed to vanish from his mind, replaced by a primal hunger that consumed his senses.

A surprised moan escaped his lips as your small hand struggled to fully encircle him, your touch sending jolts of pleasure coursing through his veins. His hips instinctively rocked forward, seeking more of your touch, more of your warmth.

But even as pleasure coursed through his veins, Lionel couldn't shake the feeling of inadequacy that gnawed at the corners of his mind. Was he really so pathetic that he needed his wife to touch him like this, to satisfy his most basic needs? He hated himself for it, but he couldn't deny the overwhelming desire that consumed him in this moment.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Lionel murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he tried to give you an out. He didn't want to pressure you into anything you weren't comfortable with, even if it meant denying himself the pleasure he craved.

But you didn't disappoint him, your response sending a surge of relief and desire coursing through him. "I want you, Lionel," you whispered, your voice filled with longing. "I want to make you feel good."

And with those words, Lionel felt another weight lift from his shoulders, a sense of liberation washing over him as he surrendered to the pleasure of your touch. He watched with rapt attention as you touched him slowly, dragging your hand down his length, spreading his pre-cum and sending shivers of pleasure racing through his body.

You looked up at Lionel, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you commented on the moans you had heard him utter in his sleep. "What were you dreaming about, my dear?" you teased, your voice laced with playful curiosity.

Lionel's cheeks flushed slightly at your question, but he met your gaze with a smoldering intensity that sent shivers down your spine. "With you, always with you," he confessed, his voice low and husky with desire. "I dreamed I was fucking you against the desk in my office at Shabandar Corporation."

A thrill of excitement coursed through you at his words, the image of Lionel taking you with wild abandon igniting a firestorm of need within you. "God, that sounds incredible," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "I wish I could have been there to experience it with you."

Lionel growled softly at the thought of that dream, his arousal evident in the way his length twitched in your hand. "It was so good, so good," he confessed, his voice rough with need. "The lion satisfying his lioness."

But as you stopped touching him, Lionel groaned in disappointment, his desire for you evident in the way his hips rocked forward, seeking more of your touch. "Don't stop, my love," he pleaded, his voice thick with desire. "Please, I need you."

You smiled at his reaction, feeling a surge of power and satisfaction at the effect you had on him. With a deliberate slowness, you turned him around so he was facing you, your eyes locking with his in a silent promise of what was to come.

And then, without a word, you knelt in front of him, your actions leaving no doubt of what you were going to do. You were going to worship your king, to show him just how much he meant to you.

You hold Lionel in your hand, looking up at him mischievously as you tease, "Has the lion turned into a little mouse?"

Lionel's eyes darken with desire as he growls in response, "Little mouse? No, my dear. I am the lion, the king."

With a smirk, you continue to stroke him gently, reveling in the power you hold over him. "Prove it then, my king," you challenge, your voice dripping with playful taunting. "Show me just how much of a lion you really are."

Lionel's ego swells with pride and arrogance, his dominant nature coming back in full force as he reaches out to hold the back of your head firmly. "You dare to doubt me, my lioness?" he purrs, his baritone voice sending shivers down your spine. "I'll show you exactly who is in control here."

With a swift movement, he guides your head forward, pressing his length against your lips, his arrogance fueling his desire to dominate you completely. "Take me in your mouth, my lioness," he commands, his voice laced with authority. "Show me how much you worship your king."

You eagerly comply with his demand, taking him into your mouth with a hunger that matches his own. Lionel groans in pleasure at the sensation, his hands tightening in your hair as he guides your movements, setting the pace with a firm grip.

As you pleasure him with skillful strokes and teasing swirls of your tongue, Lionel's arousal builds to a fever pitch, his pride swelling with every moan and whimper that escapes his lips. He revels in the feeling of power and dominance that courses through him, his ego inflated by the knowledge that he is the one in control.

As Lionel lets go of your hair, you take the opportunity to slow down your movements, deciding to tease him. You scatter kisses along the length of his shaft, tracing delicate patterns with your lips and tongue. Lionel allows it, relishing in the sensation of your teasing touches. After all, his queen was a master tease, and he loved every moment of it.

You continue to lavish attention on him, ensuring that no part of him is neglected, including his balls. Lionel can't help but marvel at your skill and dedication, feeling pride swell within him at the sight of you pleasuring him so expertly. You were his perfect lioness, and he couldn't imagine anyone else satisfying him in quite the same way.

But Lionel has other plans in mind. He doesn't want to finish in your mouth, no, he wants to finish inside of you. With a low growl of desire, he pulls you away from him and scoops you up in his arms, carrying you back to the bedroom with purpose.

As he lays you down on the marital bed, Lionel takes a moment to admire your beauty, noting with satisfaction that you aren't wearing panties under your nightgown. You always knew how to tempt him, how to drive him wild with desire.

With a smirk, Lionel decides to tease you in return, running his fingers lightly over your quivering and wet entrance. He can feel the heat radiating from you, the unmistakable scent of arousal filling the air. You were all wet for him, and he couldn't wait to claim you as his own.

"Look at you, my little lioness," Lionel purrs, his baritone voice sending shivers down your spine. "So eager and ready for your king. But you know what I want, don't you?"

You nod eagerly, your own desire burning bright as you gaze up at him with wanton abandon. "Yes, my king," you reply, your voice husky with need. "I want you inside me, filling me up completely."

Lionel's smirk widens at your words, his arousal reaching a fever pitch as he positions himself between your legs, his hardness pressing against your slick folds. "Good girl," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Now, let me show you just how much I adore my queen."

With that, he thrusts into you with one smooth motion, claiming you as his own with a primal growl of satisfaction. As you gasp in pleasure beneath him, Lionel loses himself in the sensation of your tight heat enveloping him, a feeling of completeness washing over him as he loses himself in the rhythm of your shared desire.

And as Lionel pulls out almost all the way, leaving just the toothy tip of himself inside you, you feel a surge of anticipation coursing through your veins. Your quivering hole almost closes completely before he rocks back against you hard, making you scream from the intense thrusts. "God, this feels amazing," you moan, your voice husky with desire. "I've missed this so much, Lionel. I can't believe I denied you."

Lionel's wild look only adds to your arousal as he effortlessly reaches up your nightgown, exposing your breasts to him. His hooked nose twitches with anticipation as he gazes at your exposed flesh, his baritone voice dripping with lust. "You have such perfect breasts, my lioness," he purrs, his hands caressing your curves with possessive need. "They belong to me, don't they? Say it, my queen."

You gasp at his words, feeling a thrill of excitement coursing through you at the possessive tone in his voice. "Yes, Lionel," you whimper, your voice trembling with desire. "My breasts belong to you, my king. They're yours to do with as you please."

With a predatory gleam in his eyes, Lionel leans down to capture one of your hardened nipples between his teeth, biting down gently before soothing the sting with a flick of his tongue. You arch into his touch, your back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure wash over you.

Lionel's lips curl into a satisfied smirk as he continues to lavish attention on your breasts, alternating between gentle nips and languid kisses. His hands roam freely over your body, exploring every curve and contour with an intimacy that leaves you breathless.

"You're so beautiful, my queen," Lionel murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he trails kisses down your torso, leaving a fiery trail of need in his wake. "I could spend eternity worshiping you, pleasuring you in every way imaginable."

As Lionel's words washed over you in a haze of pleasure and desire, you found yourself lost in the rhythm of his thrusts, your mind consumed by the intoxicating sensations coursing through your body. Each powerful thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, igniting a firestorm of need that burned hotter with each passing moment.

You whimpered incoherently, your voice lost amidst the symphony of moans and gasps that filled the air. All you could focus on was the exquisite pleasure of Lionel's touch, the way he filled you so completely, so deliciously. Every thrust was a reminder of his dominance, of his claim over you as his lioness.

But Lionel didn't let you rock against him, his hands holding your hips firmly in place as he increased the intensity of his thrusts. He pounded into you with a primal urgency, his movements fueled by a raw, untamed desire that left you gasping for breath.

In the midst of your pleasure-addled haze, Lionel's words finally penetrated your consciousness, his voice thick with passion and devotion as he expressed his unwavering commitment to you. He reminded you of your worth, of the undeniable bond that held you together, even in the face of doubt and insecurity.

As Lionel continued to pleasure you with a fervor bordering on desperation, you felt a surge of love and gratitude wash over you. Despite your doubts and insecurities, he remained steadfast in his devotion, his every action a testament to the depth of his love for you.

And in that moment, as you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure of his touch, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. Lionel was your king, your lion, and you were his lioness, bound by a love that was as fierce as it was unbreakable.

As Lionel's thrusts grew more urgent, his baritone voice filling the air with a primal growl of desire, you surrendered completely to the ecstasy of the moment. With each powerful thrust, you felt a sense of liberation wash over you, a reminder that no matter what doubts or insecurities may arise, you would always have each other.

And as you clung to Lionel in the throes of passion, you knew that together, you could weather any storm, overcome any obstacle. For in each other's arms, you had found not only love, but strength, resilience, and a bond that was truly unbreakable.

With a final, primal roar of pleasure, you and Lionel reached the pinnacle of ecstasy together, your bodies entwined in a passionate embrace that transcended time and space. And as you lay spent and sated in each other's arms, you knew that no matter what the future held, you would face it together, as king and lioness, united in love and devotion.

The next morning, as you trudged to the bathroom, Lionel watched you with a satisfied smile. His ego swelled at the sight of your slight discomfort, evidence of the passion you had shared the night before. He stayed in bed, one hand behind his head, a smug smile playing on his lips. But even as he reveled in his conquest, he knew he should check on you, make sure you were okay after the intensity of the previous night.

With that thought in mind, Lionel got up, ignoring his nudity as he knocked on the bathroom door before entering. He found you standing under the hot spray of the shower, the steam filling the room as you tried to soothe the lingering soreness from the night before.

"Are you okay, my love?" Lionel asked, his voice filled with concern as he observed the marks he had left on your skin. He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at the sight of the love bites and finger marks that adorned your body.

You grimaced slightly, admitting that you were sore but insisting that you were fine. Lionel could hear the pain in your voice, and he couldn't bear to see you in discomfort. Without a second thought, he stepped into the shower with you, pulling you close against him in a gentle embrace.

"I'm sorry if I was too rough last night," Lionel apologized, his voice thick with regret. "I didn't mean to hurt you, my dear. I just got carried away."

You shook your head, denying his apology as you leaned into his embrace. "No, Lionel, it's okay," you reassured him, your voice soft and affectionate. "I liked it, really. It's just a little soreness, but it's a good kind of pain."

Lionel felt a wave of relief wash over him at your words, grateful that he hadn't caused you any lasting harm. But he knew he couldn't let you go through the day in discomfort. With determination, he announced that he would stay home to take care of you, brushing off your protests about his work.

"No arguments, my love," Lionel insisted, his voice firm with resolve. "Today, I'm taking care of you. You're my lioness, and it's time for the lion to show his devotion."

You tried to protest further, but Lionel wouldn't hear of it. With a gentle smile, he helped you finish your shower before drying you off and leading you back to bed. As you curled up against him, basking in the warmth of his embrace, you couldn't help but feel grateful for his unwavering love and devotion.

And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, as king and lioness, united in love and devotion.

As Lionel watched you sleep, a sense of peace washed over him, the tension and turmoil of the previous night fading into the background. He couldn't help but admire the serene expression on your face, the way your chest rose and fell with each steady breath. Gently, he reached out to caress your cheek, his touch light and tender as he brushed a stray lock of hair away from your face.

With a contented sigh, Lionel decided to take care of things so you could rest without worry. He retrieved his cell phone from the bedside table, scrolling through his contacts until he found the number he was looking for. With a quick press of a button, he dialed his assistant's number, his baritone voice filling the room as he explained that he wouldn't be showing up for work today.

"Good morning, this is Lionel," he greeted her, his voice smooth and authoritative. "I won't be coming in today, so please only call me if it's absolutely necessary. I need a day off to take care of some personal matters."

His assistant, accustomed to his occasional need for privacy, agreed without hesitation, promising to handle any urgent matters herself. Lionel thanked her before ending the call, a sense of relief washing over him as he set his cell phone aside.

As he glanced at the device, Lionel couldn't help but entertain the idea of getting a separate cell phone just for work. However, the thought of carrying around two phones seemed cumbersome to him, and he scoffed at the idea of becoming even more reliant on technology. He was a man of refinement and tradition, not some slave to modern gadgets.

With a shrug, Lionel decided to push the thought aside for now, focusing instead on the warmth of your presence beside him. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as he nuzzled against your neck, content to spend a few more moments in the comfort of your embrace.

But as the morning light filtered through the curtains, Lionel realized that he couldn't let you go hungry. With a determined smile, he reluctantly untangled himself from your embrace, wearing underwear and making his way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for his beloved lioness.

As he moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, Lionel couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the thought of pampering you with a delicious meal. He hummed softly to himself as he gathered ingredients and set to work, the rhythmic clatter of pots and pans filling the air as he whipped up a feast fit for a queen.

And as the scent of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air, Lionel couldn't wait to see the smile on your face when you woke up to the delicious aroma of breakfast. For you were his lioness, his queen, and he would do anything to make you happy.

As you woke up to the annoying vibration of Lionel's cell phone on the bedside table, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at the interruption. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you glanced at the screen to see who was calling, only to freeze in surprise at the sight of the caller ID.

It was that woman again, the one Lionel had insisted was just his new assistant. Doubts crept into your mind once more as you wondered why she was calling him so early in the morning. Had he been lying to you all along?

"Lionel?" you called out, but there was no answer from downstairs. Frowning, you hesitated for a moment before reaching out to swipe the screen, curiosity getting the better of you. What could she possibly want at this hour?

With a sigh of resignation, you answered the call without thinking, bringing the phone to your ear as you prepared to speak to the woman on the other end of the line. "Hello?" you greeted, your voice laced with a hint of uncertainty.

"Mr. Shahbandar?" the woman's voice came through the line, her tone respectful and apologetic. "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, I know you said not to call unless absolutely necessary, but there's an urgent matter that requires your attention."

You listened intently as she explained the situation, a shareholder meeting that Lionel had apparently forgotten about. She didn't know whether to postpone the meeting or attend it in his place, and she was seeking his guidance on how to proceed.

As you listened to her words, a weight lifted from your shoulders. Lionel had been telling the truth all along, and here you were, doubting him for no reason. Guilt gnawed at the edges of your conscience, but you pushed it aside for now, focusing on the task at hand.

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Shabandar can't come to the phone right now," you replied, your voice firm and decisive. "But I'll make sure he returns your call as soon as possible. In the meantime, you have my assurances that we'll take care of this matter promptly."

The woman on the other end of the line thanked you profusely for your assistance before ending the call. As you hung up the phone, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at having resolved the situation on your own.

Quickly, you got out of bed and slipped into a robe, making your way downstairs to find Lionel setting the table with breakfast. His back was turned to you, but you could see the satisfied smile on his face as he hummed softly to himself.

"Lionel," you began, your voice filled with warmth and affection as you approached him. "There was a call for you just now. It was your assistant, about the shareholder meeting today."

Lionel turned to face you, his expression one of surprise and gratitude. "Thank you, my love," he replied, his baritone voice smooth and reassuring. "I'll make sure to return her call right away."

With a nod of acknowledgment, you settled into your seat at the table, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you as you prepared to enjoy breakfast with your beloved husband. Despite the doubts that had plagued you earlier, you knew that you and Lionel were a team, united in love and devotion.

And as you shared a meal together, basking in the warmth of each other's presence, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the bond that held you together, even in the face of uncertainty. For in each other's arms, you had found not only love, but strength, resilience, and a sense of peace that transcended all doubts and fears.

With a smile of gratitude, you reached out to take Lionel's hand in yours, intertwining your fingers with his as you silently reaffirmed your commitment to each other. No matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew that you would face them together, as king and lioness, united in love and devotion forevermore.

[oddsconvert]

My brain: make friends! Send asks! Exist in more then just your blog!

Me: but what if I'm scared of friends!?!?!

Anyway, can I request Ronan catching Issak hurting Henley?

Flowers for author. 💐💐💐💐💐

Friends!!! It's official! No being scared! <3 I am so sorry for the delay with this but I hope this ticks your boxes! :D

---

“How do you sleep at night?”

Henley stirred awake, his world a blurred mess of throbbing pain. Crusted sleep clung to his lashes, he blinked fiercely to chase away the haze. He could only just about make out a hulking silhouette looming over him. When his vision finally sharpened, he instinctively clutched his scratty blanket closer to his heaving chest - his futile shield.

Cold dread flooded Henley as he saw Izaak, free of the chains that usually rattled with every twitch of a muscle. The chains that kept Henley safe and sound, out of harm's way. Far from Izaak’s reach.  Izaak's fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white, his face contorted in a feral snarl. Panic squeezed Henley’s chest like a vice. He was a rabbit trapped in a fox's den. 

“Wha-?” Henley’s voice was a hoarse rasp. He’s half-convinced no sound left his lips at all. 

"Oh, did I interrupt your sweet dreams, Henny?" Izaak's voice was a low growl, sending shivers trickling down Henley's spine. That nickname. The way it dripped with mocking familiarity, but years of ingrained fear hid within it. It made all the hairs on Henley’s arms stand on edge. 

Izaak suddenly lunged forward. One massive hand clamped around Henley's throat, squeezing every last drop of air from his lungs. Henley's wrists burned in protest against his chains, straining as he fought for a sliver of slack, a desperate inch to reach his throat and fight Izaak off. "You," Izaak spat, barely containing his rage, "are the reason for my suffering. The cause of my anguish. Every scar on my body has your name written on it.."

Tears pressed from beneath Henley’s eyelids, and he shook his head furiously. Passionately. No. It’s not true. He’s not responsible for this. He didn’t land them here, he didn’t start all of this. This is all Izaak’s doing. This is the price he has to pay. 

“So answer the question,” Izaak demanded, now nearly crushing Henley’s windpipe as he choked and wheezed, “How the hell do you sleep at night? No. Scratch that shit. Better yet. How do you live with yourself? After what you’ve done to me?”

“I-Izaak, pleas-”

Izaak’s fist came at Henley with such speed it was like a cannonball. It connected with a sickening crunch as Henley felt his nose cave in, and hot-white pain erupted. The force of the blow sent him sprawling, the floor rose up to meet him with a jarring thud. He lay helpless. Cool blood dripped from his nose and pooled on his lips, he could taste the metallic tang. 

“You dare call me that again, and I’ll put you six feet under this fucking cement. Understand?” Izaak seethed through gritted teeth, with spit spraying and a vein pulsing from his temple. Izaak didn’t even give him the second to respond, Henley was still reeling and seeing stars. “I SAID, “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!” he roared. 

“Yes!” Henley wailed miserably. Tears mingled with blood and dirt. He sniffed pathetically and whimpered as new pain flared through his obviously broken nose. He stayed glued to the floor. Too afraid to move, to even dare lift his head up. Henley didn’t see Izaak reaching for his long curls of hair and wrenching them in his fist. Yanking his head back, Henley’s Adam's apple bobbed against his collar as he gasped and gulped back the fear.

“‘Yes’, what?” Izaak whispered. It was hard to miss the element of enjoyment in his voice. It sounded like old times. Must feel like it to him too. 

But Henley immediately knew what he was looking for.

“Yes, sir!” Henley gasped out. There’s not a beat of hesitation. Izaak can say many things about Henley. A bad pet, he is not. 

Henley’s head smacked to the ground, his forehead banging against cold, unforgiving cement as Izaak threw him out of his hand. He’s on a warpath. He paced back and forth, contemplating what to do next. 

Izaak's foot then swung into Henley's gut. The air whooshed from Henley's lungs in a strangled scream that ripped free from his throat. The world lurched sideways, a wave of nausea crashing over him. Bile rose in his throat as pain lanced through his abdomen. Izaak unrolled Henley from his cocoon and straddled his hips, slamming his palm over Henley’s mouth, “Shut the fuck up! Don’t you dare make a sound.”

Henley obeyed. He forced himself to seal his lips, now sobbing silently and huffing through the pain. 

“You got us into this fucking mess. You deserve everything you’ve got coming to you. I’m going to make you wish you were never born-”

“I already do-” Henley croaked.

Izaak doesn’t hold back anymore. He unleashed a flurry of punches, raining blow after blow down on Henley. Henley’s already-battered body convulsed with each hit - he twisted and flailed in a desperate bid to shield himself from the onslaught. It was no use. Darkness cornered his vision, and ringing screeched in his ears. His entire body was slowly growing limp.

Henley squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the sweet relief of unconsciousness. He waited for the next punch. And waited. But it never came. Confused, Henley cracked open a swollen and purpling eye.

Izaak was no longer looking at him, and a flicker of raw terror replaced the unhinged rage that had plagued his eyes before. Henley groaned as he lifted his pounding head, and turned to follow Izaak’s petrified stare.

A shadow shifted at the top of the stairs, a tutting sound emanating from the darkness.

“What are you doing to my boy?” Ronan asked, cool as a cucumber on the surface, but fury bubbled below. The calm facade didn’t last. Ronan flew down the stairs, and pulled that oh so familiar remote from his pocket. In the blink of an eye, Izaak was a quivering, jittering wreck as his shock collar lit up and shocked him stiff. He collapsed from Henley’s body like a tonne of bricks. His screams pierced the sound barrier - his fingers scrabbled and ripped at the collar, kicking his legs and bucking his entire body. Ronan punched the button again, and again until the screaming stopped. It’s just silent gargles, with drool dribbling down the edge of Izaak’s blue lips. 

Ronan threw Henley a single, and quick look as he bolted past. It wasn't a look of reassurance, but a quick flicker up and down to acknowledge him. Reaching his locked cabinet, Ronan fumbled with the combination and finally, the cabinet swung open, and he snatched a vial and syringe, and a length of rope.

He wastes no time in racing over to where Izaak is heaving and panting on the floor, and stabbing the syringe in his neck. Izaak roared, a sound that curdled the blood, but it was cut short by a weak gasp as the muscle relaxant began to take hold.

“There, there. That should settle you down, big-un,” Ronan chuckled, patting Izaak on the chest.

“F-ffuc- fuckk y-yoou,” Izaak slurred, his eyes rolled like pinball machines in their sockets. Henley watches as all the tone in Izaak’s muscle depleted and he flopped lifelessly. Izaak lay sprawled on the floor, a pathetic mew escaping his lips as the muscle relaxant coursed through his veins. His previously violent thrashing had dissolved into a pathetic trembling, his limbs heavy and unresponsive.

Henley's cry echoed through the basement. Now that the threat was neutralised. "You didn't tie him tight enough, sir! He almost—!" His voice choked on the rising panic, his gaze locked on Izaak's slack form. “He was going to kill me.”

Ronan paid no mind to Henley, the shivering wreck that he was. Instead, he focused on yanking Izaak’s arms behind his back. With rough rope, he bound Izaak's wrists together with a vengeance, the knots pulled tight, drawing a choked gasp that did little to faze Ronan. Next, he secured Izaak's ankles with another length of rope, the slack yanked out until Izaak's legs were splayed uncomfortably wide. Finally, with a cruel twist, Ronan bound Izaak's ankles to his secured wrists, hog-tying him in a position that screamed discomfort. Izaak's gasps faded to choked moans as his body contorted in a way it wasn't meant to, forced into an arched bow.

Ronan left Izaak on the ground and approached Henley slowly. With a touch that could have been gentle or cruel, he cupped Henley's bruised and bloodied cheek. Henley flinched at the contact, a hiss escaping his lips. Ronan’s eyes flickered over the damage and he tsked, disappointed. Then his eyes met Henley’s and locked in. “Do you really think I’d let him break one of my favourite toys?”

“He - He got pretty close, master.” Henley snivelled. He flinched as Ronan’s arms moved, expecting another blow, but instead, his arms wrapped around Henley’s tiny frame in a sudden and suffocating embrace. Ronan’s grip was tight, possessive, leaving no wiggle room. Defeated, Henley sagged into the hug and rested his head on Ronan’s chest, letting his eyes flutter shut. It was always easier to give into this than brave the pain. Ronan began to stroke Henley’s hair, twirling it in his fingers. It wasn’t a gesture of genuine affection and Henley was never under the impression that it was. It was Ronan’s sense of ownership. Like Izaak’s claim was the bruises and scars. Ronan’s was more inside than out. For Henley, at least.

“Shh Shh. Come with me. I’ll get you patched up, little one”. Grunting with effort, Ronan hoisted Henley to his feet, a hand wrapped under his armpit to guide him up the creaking stairs.

Ronan turned at the very last step, leering at the sight of Izaak, bound and subdued. "That little temper tantrum of yours was cute, pet" he called down, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "But playtime's over. Now, you get to lie there, nice and quiet, and contemplate all the fun things I have planned for you when your little cocktail wears off. I want you to feel every second.”

----

Taglists!:

Henley taglist: @livelaughwhump @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @sorrowful-hyacinth

Ronan taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

Izaak taglist: @emmettland @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @sorrowful-hyacinth @whumpsoda

Drabble taglist (which I forgot existed and have recently rediscovered assdfghjkl so will be using from now on unless you would like off it <3 ): @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumpsday @sparrowsage @whumperfully @wolves-and-winters @canislycaon24 @happy-little-sadist @darkthingshappen @whumping-in-the-dark @vagabouund @turn-the-tables-on-them

[anitalorimer]

𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐑 |𝐣𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐞

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 | 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚓𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛. 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚗, 𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚗'𝚜 𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚓𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕. 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 | 𝟷𝟾+, 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚗, 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚗, 𝚌𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛!𝚓𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗, 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 | 𝚓𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚎 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 | 𝟽𝟺𝟹 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜

When you first met Jonathan Crane, you did not expect for him to be the reason you would be fighting for your sanity. You have been dating Jonathan for a few months now, your relationship shrouded in a certain mystery that seemed to surround him. You knew he had a peculiar interest in fear, studying it’s effects on people’s minds with an almost obsessive dedication. Despite your closeness, he had managed to keep his Scarecrow activities hidden from you.

Your paths had crossed in the chaos of Gotham City. You, a determined reporter, had been working on the Raymond Falcons case, delving deep into the criminal underbelly of the city. It was during this investigation that you first met Jonathan. He was a professor at a local university, offering insights into the psychology of fear and the criminal mind.

Your conversations started as interviews, but they quickly evolved into something more. There was an undeniable connection between you, a shared passion for unraveling the mysteries of the human psyche. As you delved deeper into your investigation, he became your confidant, a safe haven in a world teetering on the edge of darkness.

Back to that fateful night when fear took hold of him, his own vulnerability sparking something within you. You awoke with a start, the air around you thick with a suffocating sense of dread. And there he was, Scarecrow, his presence looming over you like a nightmare come to life.

"N-No... What...?" Your voice trembled as you struggled to comprehend the surreal scene before you.

His eerie, distorted chuckle sent shivers down your spine. "I couldn’t help but watch from afar. The peace in your body as you investigate crimes in Gotham. I’ve seen you, Y/N. You show no fear and that makes me intrigued. Fear, my dear, is a powerful tool. And tonight, you'll understand its true nature."

Panic surged through your veins as he exposed you to his fear toxin. It was as if the world around you twisted and warped, reality giving way to the darkest corners of your mind. Images of your worst nightmares began to flash before your eyes, an onslaught of terror and despair.

"No, stop! This isn't real!" You cried out, your voice quivering with raw fear.

But his voice, chilling and intoxicating, echoed in your ears. "Fear is the reality we choose to embrace. Embrace it, Y/N. Show me what’s hiding in that peaceful head of yours!"

The room seemed to close in around you, shadows morphing into grotesque figures. Your breath came in ragged gasps as the images intensified, your heart pounding as if it might burst from your chest.

The fear of being abandoned surged within you, a tidal wave of raw emotion. Memories of past hurts, moments of feeling alone and unwanted, all converged into a torrent of anguish. The faces of loved ones fading away, leaving you in darkness.

"Please, no more!" You screamed, your voice cracking as the weight of your terrors pressed down upon you. "Jonathan, no! Don’t go!"

Watching the fear curse through your body, something snapped inside of Jonathan. Your body lay before him, converged in sweat and tears and tried to scramble out of the shadows of your fear. Jonathan became aware of your fear, however he became aware of his presence in your life.

A raw connection, an unbreakable bond, a gift of love. This was not how Jonathan wanted to hear the confession, but his sinister actions got the best of him. Aware of the current actions, Jonathan felt useless to try and calm you down. He had to let it run its course.

The sounds of your cries, screams and the sight of your body trembling with fear made Jonathan remorseful. Jonathan pulled off the Scarecrow mask, gripping it tightly in his hands. The material felt heavy, his own fear and obsession weighing it down with sorrow.

As the toxin's grip began to loosen, you found yourself shivering, trembling not just from the aftereffects of the toxin but from the rawness of the emotions it had dredged up. And then you saw him – Jonathan, no longer Scarecrow, but a broken man before you.

Tears streaked down his face, his hands trembling as he clutched the mask that represented his alter ego. In that moment, your fear transformed into a profound understanding. You saw the man behind the mask, the vulnerability he had always hidden, and the pain he carried.

Upon hearing your shuffling against the bedsheets, Jonathan turned to face yours. " Y/N… I-"

"Why did you do this to me?" You felt betrayed, hurt, but in all emotion, you felt fearful.

"I never meant... I didn't want you to experience this. I wanted to understand, to know why you're different. But I never wanted to hurt you like this."

Seeing Jonathan in this state was foreign to you. Looking into his glossy eyes, you saw raw feeling, the real Jonathan.

Tentatively, you reached out to him, your fingers brushing against his tear-stained cheek. "Jonathan," you murmured, your voice filled with compassion. "We both have our fears. I didn’t want you to know mine because I fear of losing those important to me. You are important to me, Jonathan.”

His gaze met yours, a mixture of relief and contentment in his eyes. "I don't deserve your forgiveness. I brought this upon you."

Your fingers found their way to his lips, silencing his self-blame. "We're all haunted by something. What matters is how we choose to confront those demons."

His voice cracked as he spoke, his vulnerability laid bare. "I never meant for you to see this side of me. I never wanted to lose you."

The weight of remorse bore down on him as he realised the extent of what he had done. He had brought your deepest fears to life, subjected you to the torment he himself had inflicted on others. As you trembled before him, his heart shattered, the pieces scattering at his feet.

But forgiveness was not an immediate gift. Fear still lingered in your eyes, and his self-doubt was palpable. The days that followed were heavy with the weight of what had transpired. There were moments of silence, when unspoken apologies hung in the air, and moments of distance, when you both grappled with your own insecurities.

It was a slow journey, navigating the landscape of your emotions. You were fearful of him, of the darkness he could tap into. He was fearful of himself, of the damage he had inflicted upon you. Yet through it all, the connection you shared acted as a guiding light.

Finally, after weeks of uncertainty and soul-searching, the moment of forgiveness arrived. It was a quiet night, a gentle breeze rustling the curtains. You sat together, the weight of your experiences hanging between you. And then, he spoke.

"Y/N, I can never erase what I've done, the fear I've subjected you to. But I want you to know that I'm truly sorry, that I never wanted to hurt you."

Your gaze met his, the wall between you crumbling. "And I'm sorry for shutting you out, for not fully understanding what you were going through."

He reached for your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "We both have our fears, Y/N. But I promise you, I'll do everything in my power to protect you from them."

A tear glistened in your eye as you looked at him, the connection between you growing stronger. "And I promise to face my fears, as long as we face them together."

It wasn't an easy path forward, but through shared moments of vulnerability, you learned to trust each other on a level that transcended the surface. And as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, your bond only grew stronger, grounded in the understanding that fear could either tear you apart or bring you closer together.

With time, you both found solace in each other's arms, knowing that you were no longer alone in your struggles. And as the nights grew quieter, the darkness no longer held the same terrors it once did, for you had each other to chase away the shadows.

[layla4567]

Spoilers Loki s2 e5

I have a lot to say!!! (this will be long)

Ok first of all this scene made me laugh a lot because of how randomly they presented the original timeline of Mobius, he looks like a child playing (oh and him being a single dad it makes a lot of sense to me)

expectation:

reality:

Oh my f*cking god If I liked O.B before, now I love him with all my soul! He is not only a nerdy genius but a science fiction geek whose passion is to be a writer!!! And why didn't they let him keep his books in the bookstore?! I would gladly buy them!! Just look at his face, he needs a hug :(

AND WHY THE FUCK DID THEY NOT HELP HIM WHEN THE BOOKS DROPPED ON HIM?! IT COSTS NOTHING TO BE KIND DAMN IT

Ok, I think we've all realized that O.B's workshop is the same as the basement where he works at the TVA, maybe he was the one who created the TVA after all? btw how beautiful the photography is in this entire series.

I admit it, I laughed my ass off at this scene, I apologize (make it a meme pls lol) Honestly, this whole scene and the interactions that O.B had with Loki made me laugh (when Loki tries to control his timeslipping or when O.B electrocutes him as scientific proof)

This scene where Loki adjusts his hair and his jacket to see Mobius 👀 (he only does it with him) I wonder what the Sylki fans have to say

Remember how I said I hated Hunter X5/Brad Wolfe? Well I was wrong, there is one person I hate more, her. Girl, they're literally telling you that everything is going to shit and you don't give a damn? On top of that, when they tell you that you are selfish, do you take it naturally as if it were something to be proud of? Why are you like this? The worst thing of all is that when Loki says he wants his friends back she calls him selfish, not sweetheart, that's not being selfish. Being selfish is turning a blind eye to a problem that you mainly caused. Loki's fear of being alone is understandable and justified since he felt that way all his life and has done all the things he did for that same reason, which It's being really selfish, it's the opposite, wanting to be alone and forget your friends and not care that their timelines are falling apart. Sylvie you are a hypocrite (sorry I had to vent)

AAAAAAAAAA I'M GOING TO CRY GOD. I said it and I will always say it Loki needs a hug 😭 This scene is super moving because it shows us Loki's true purpose, he just wants his friends back, who are also people he hasn't known for a long time but who were attentive to him (btw Tom Hiddleston always shines in all his scenes )

This scene...holy shit this scene was scary. I think it's even more terrifying than Thanos' snap.

It's overwhelming how everything around her disappears in seconds leaving her in literal emptiness. There is absolutely nothing left, only threads floating in an enveloping blackness. When I saw that scene I felt empty and desolate.

OH SHIT HERE WE GO AGAIN...

NOOOOOOO MOBIUS NOT YOU (He just wanted to save his children 😭)

Loki's face when he sees his friend disappear D: (I'm having deja vu from the first season when Mobius was pruned)

Sylvie too?! Why does she disappear and Loki doesn't? (By the way, you just arrived Sylvie when you realize that everything is disappearing? really?)

Ok this is a nightmare for Loki, he was left alone and couldn't do anything to avoid all that, I think it's the most hopeless scene of the episode :( (And the way he tries to grab those threads…I'm broken)

OK HEAR ME OUT BECAUSE I HAVE A LOT TO SAY ABOUT THIS SCENE. I think the background voices help a lot with the feeling of anguish and helplessness that Loki feels, for not being able to save what he loved most, his friends. And when you feel overwhelmed by all those voices and at the end one stands out and it's Sylvie's voice saying something like what makes a Loki a Loki is the fact that we are destined to lose? That's when he screams in despair and goes back in time just a few seconds earlier and manages to control his timeslipping. And I must say that at first when I saw this scene it reminded me a lot of the scene from the movie "Ella Enchanted" when she is forced to kill the prince and she is surrounded by mirrors and begins to remember moments of her life such as when her mother told him to trust her or something like that (I don't remember the scene much, I saw it years ago lol) the point is that she refuses with all her heart to obey that order and in a moment of desperation she screams just like Loki and she says that she will no longer be obedient and drops the dagger, freeing herself from the spell. I don't know if you understand my point because I'm bad at explaining, but I think that the love he feels for his friends was what made him go back in time, that strong desire to want to make things right and that determination to say "this isn't true." It can end like this, I decide what is going to happen" (free will) I think that is what makes him finally able to control the situation, love is the most powerful force. Something similar happens in the movie "Tomorrowland" I think.

This scene is really powerful, the background music, the phrases that Loki says, the context of the scene, it is cinema. I think you don't need an action scene or scenes for a scene to be epic and move you. This is epic with so little, it is simple but effective. And the music is really the icing on the cake, it is so hopeful and gives strength to the moment when Loki returns to the TVA being able to fulfill his mission, I cried. Loki has evolved into a hero who saves the day and everyone.

And that ending??! Oh no the cliffhanger again..

Phew I know this was very long but I really needed this kind of catharsis, never has a Loki episode left me with so many emotions and beautiful things like this one. I laughed, I got excited, I cried and I was scared. I am very happy with the evolution of Loki and each episode that passes wins my heart more, I can't wait to see the next chapter. Everything is perfect in this series, the music, the settings, the actors, etc. It shows that it is made with the heart

[khtrinityftw]

There has been discourse elsewhere about Organization XIII and why the series beyond's retconning of them actually having hearts the whole time was because they were depicted too human, with too much emotion. To which I have a very blunt question to ask....

What the hell were the games you were playing?

Organization XIII quite frequently expose themselves as without feeling. And when it comes to the seemingly emotional demeanors of several members, the series Ultimania from 2014 actually gave away what the original intent behind that was on the Xemnas bio page:

"His tone and gestures are a bit theatrical".

Organization XIII are ACTORS.

Like all actors, they can draw upon memories or the rudimentary understanding of human emotion to channel it even if it's not what they're truly feeling. Xigbar could thus think "I remember being a douche as a human so I'll draw upon those memories to act that way!" Vexen could think "I remember being obsessively passionate about science as a human so I'll draw upon those memories to act that way!" Demyx could think "I remember being a wimp as a human so I'll draw upon those memories to act that way!" Luxord could think "I remember being a game-loving gentleman as a human so I'll draw upon those memories to act that way!" And Larxene could think "I remember being a sadistic bitch as a human so I'll draw upon those memories to act that way!" Much of this is a desperate attempt to recapture some true measure of feeling. Acting upon memories, doing the things they loved to do as humans....they hope that if they keep doing that, it'll bear some emotional fruit. Of course, the other members don't try nearly as hard, feigning emotion only when the situation they're in calls for it. Sometimes the results aren't pleasant, like with Zexion who is so used to not putting in effort acting out emotions that when finally pushed to it comes off as more mentally deranged than anything, like he's a robot that's short-circuiting.

Now, despite this, I have to mention that there are three exceptions to this where the Organization members truly do feel things.

One is in regards to Kingdom Hearts, which on two different occasions bring out true emotions. The first is with Saix, who under its light goes into a legitimate rage due to his nature as a high-class Berserker Nobody. And the second is of course with Xemnas when he fuses with it, calling upon the emotions of anger, hatred and envy to empower him, as they're the only emotions he can remember.

Two is when Nobodies actually attempt to get close to those who have hearts...and "those who have hearts" includes Roxas and Namine, who due to the special nature of their birth do, in fact, have hearts, at the cost of having memories of their human lives. As seen with Axel, getting close to Roxas' heart and then Sora's in turn made him begin to actually feel genuine emotions stirring within him.

This of course led to the inner conflict where his nature as an unfeeling, self-interested Nobody clashed with the true feelings of friendship he now had toward Roxas which we saw play out in KH2.

Third and finally, their deaths. Because a Nobody fades away means that their hearts are about to regain their bodies and souls, this connection with their hearts enables them to feel true emotion at the moment of their passing. Rage, anguish, fear, remorse, grief...such feelings are there, for real, in their last few seconds of existence.

.....Except for Xigbar. He just kept up the douche act to the end.

[baldwinivmybeloved]

ೀ⠀ׂ ੭ৎ Charper Fourteen 𝅄 ꒱ Xica x Baldwin IV

Xica found herself alone in her room, the oppressive silence weighing on her shoulders like an inescapable burden. Her thoughts returned again and again to the intense scene with Baldwin IV, where they had almost given in to their passion. Fear and regret overwhelmed her, her mind clouded by guilt and confusion.

"What am I doing?" she thought, as her heart pounded. "This can't be. What consequences will this bring? How could I let myself be carried away like this?" Her hands trembled as she brought them to her face, trying to find some comfort amid her emotional turmoil. She paced the room, unable to stay still, her breathing rapid and shallow. Anguish consumed her, feeling as if she were on the edge of a precipice from which there was no return.

To avoid encountering Baldwin, she began to flee through the castle corridors, quickly diverting every time she heard his voice or saw a shadow that could be his. Baldwin, for his part, noticed the distance Xica maintained, and his heart filled with sadness. He felt a heaviness in his chest, a despair that seemed to devour him from within.

From Baldwin IV's perspective, the situation was no less painful. He was in his quarters, reflecting on how he had allowed his instincts to take over. "How could I be so reckless?" he thought. "Xica deserves more than this. She deserves security and stability, not the uncertainty of forbidden love." He felt a mix of guilt and desire, an internal conflict that tore him apart.

Godfrey, noticing the evident sadness on his king's face, approached cautiously. "My lord, I can't help but notice that something deeply troubles you. Is it about Xica, isn't it?"

Baldwin nodded, sighing heavily. "I can't stop thinking about her, Godfrey. I've let my feelings get the best of me, and now I fear I may have put her in danger."

Godfrey looked at him with understanding but also determination. "Baldwin, it's been a long time. If your feelings for Xica are true, you must make a decision. You can't keep living in this uncertainty."

The conversation between them became deep and extensive, with Godfrey encouraging Baldwin to declare his complete love for Xica. "My lord, Xica has proven to be an exceptional woman. She has endured so much and still remained strong. If you love her, if you truly love her, then you must make it official. Ask her to be your wife and queen of Jerusalem. Not only as an act of love but also as a declaration that her place is by your side, no matter the circumstances."

Baldwin pondered Godfrey's words for a long time, feeling they echoed his own thoughts. "You're right, Godfrey. I'm sure of what I feel. I'll ask Xica to become my wife and queen of Jerusalem."

However, his words did not go unnoticed. Reynald de Chatilleau, hidden in the shadows, heard every word of the conversation. His face contorted in pure hatred. "Xica, queen of Jerusalem? I will never allow it."

Reynald quickly made his way to the prison where Genova was being held. He gripped the bars with fury, causing Genova to tremble. "Speak, woman! Tell me everything you know about Xica and those jewels."

Genova, though frightened, revealed the location of the jewels. Reynald looked at her with disdain. "I only wanted you as an object. You're useless to me now."

These words drove Genova mad. Her mind plunged into a whirlwind of pain and betrayal as Reynald walked away, leaving behind a trail of despair.

Reynald sought out Guido de Lusignan, and together, enraged, they headed towards the kitchen where Xica was with her mother and other servants. The atmosphere filled with terror as the knights stormed into the room.

"Take that woman!" ordered Reynald. The servants screamed in fear as the knights grabbed Xica with force. Reynald heated a stone in the fire and, without compassion, placed it in Xica's mouth. The pain made her faint instantly.

Guido de Lusignan coldly ordered, "Tie her up in her room and give her no food." The slaves and Luisa, Xica's mother, ran to seek help. Xavier and the other men arrived quickly and took Xica, unconscious, to the lower floor of the slave hut.

At midnight, Reynald de Chatilleau arrived with fire and three Templars, burning the house completely. Chaos erupted as the slaves fled in terror. Xica, awakened by the smoke, struggled to free herself, injuring her arm in the process. She climbed to the upper floor, helping as many as she could to escape.

The smoke thickened the air, and the desperation of the slaves increased. Xica, despite the pain and confusion, moved with determination, rescuing Jacobino, Xavier, and all the children. However, just as she was about to return, she encountered Reynald de Chatilleau, sword in hand, ready to kill her.

Xica retreated, re-entering the burning house. Reynald pursued her with unbridled fury. Xica reached her room, desperately searching for her belongings. In the distance, she heard her mother's voice but had no time to react. She drew a sword and faced Reynald.

The attacks were swift and fierce. Reynald struck with force, but Xica, despite her weakness, moved with agility, deflecting the blows and looking for an opportunity to counterattack. Every clash of swords echoed in the air, mixed with the creaks of the burning structure. Xica managed to wound Reynald in the arm, forcing him to retreat.

Just as Reynald prepared for a final attack, the voices of Tiberias and other knights were heard approaching. Taking advantage of the distraction, Xica ran towards her mother's voice but was stopped by Tobiah, the knight, who pulled her out of the burning house. Xica struggled to break free, but Tobiah did not let go, knowing it was impossible to return.

The house collapsed completely, and Xica screamed in despair. Her cries echoed throughout the castle as she tried to fight Tobiah. But her strength left her, and in the end, she fainted on the ground, watching as the remains of the house were consumed by fire and hearing the cries of the survivors.

In her dreams, Xica found herself in a beautiful landscape. Had she died? She didn't think so. In the distance, she saw her mother and ran towards her, finding herself in a tender embrace. "Mother…" Xica whispered, feeling the warmth of maternal love.

Luisa looked at her with tenderness. "My dear Xica, you have been so strong. But you must go on living. You can't come with me yet. You have a life ahead of you."

Xica, in tears, responded, "I don't want to be without you, mother. I've lost so much…"

"I know, my love," Luisa said, caressing her face. "But you must live. For yourself, for those who love you. You must be strong."

The embrace faded, and Xica found herself back in reality, surrounded by pain and chaos.

In another part of the castle, Baldwin IV, Sibylla, Tiberias, Godfrey, and others rushed to the scene of the fire. Baldwin was visibly worried, fearing for Xica's safety. Tiberias stopped him. "Baldwin, there's not much you can do in your condition. Let the knights handle it."

The knights hurried to extinguish the fire and rescue the survivors. Godfrey described Xica to the knights, hoping they could find her. He described her precisely: a 17-year-old girl, dark-skinned, wearing a white dress stained from work, with curly hair and light eyes. The knights set out to search for her.

Tobiah arrived at the scene with Xica and Xavier, both visibly injured. When Baldwin saw Xica, he felt as if the world stopped. His heart broke at seeing her in that state, with burns and scratches all over her body. "Attend to her immediately!" he ordered, his voice filled with desperation.

Xavier told Baldwin IV everything that Reynald de Chatilleau had done. Baldwin’s rage increased with each word. Tiberias, with a grim face, moved away to find Reynald, determined to make him pay for his crimes. The fire was beginning to die down, and the knights worked tirelessly to save the last survivors.

Baldwin IV, despite his weakness, approached Xica. His heart beat with a mix of desperation and determination. "I can’t let this happen. I can’t lose her," he thought, as tears filled his eyes. He watched as the healers hurried to tend to her wounds, his mind flooded with dark and anguished thoughts.

Xica, still trapped in her dreams, found herself in an idyllic landscape. The sky was a deep blue, and the flowers shone with an ethereal beauty. As she walked, she felt a deep peace but also an underlying sadness. From afar, she saw her mother, Luisa, and ran towards her, finding herself in a tender embrace.

“Mother…” Xica whispered, feeling the warmth and love in that embrace. “I’ve lost so much… I don’t want to be without you.”

Luisa looked at her tenderly. “My dear Xica, you’ve been so strong. But you must keep living. You can’t come with me yet. You have a life ahead of you.”

Through tears, Xica responded, “I don’t know if I can. Everything is so hard.”

“I know, my love,” said Luisa, caressing her face. “But you must live. For yourself, for those who love you. You must be strong.”

Suddenly, a male figure appeared in the scene. It was Emile, Xica’s father, who joined the embrace. The family was finally reunited. “My little Xica,” Emile said softly. “We’ve always been with you, and we always will be. But now you must be brave and continue.”

Xica clung to her parents, feeling a mix of comfort and sadness. “I miss you so much… I don’t know how to go on without you.”

“We will always be in your heart,” Luisa replied. “And as long as you carry us with you, you will never be alone.”

Baldwin IV watched helplessly as they tended to Xica, feeling a mix of desperation and guilt. He knew he couldn’t do much in his state, but the mere thought of losing her was unbearable. Dark thoughts swirled in his mind, filling him with deep sadness.

The healers did everything they could to stabilize Xica. Meanwhile, Baldwin didn’t leave her side, his thoughts and emotions in a whirlwind. “I can’t lose her,” he thought over and over, his heart full of anguish.

When the healers finally managed to stabilize Xica, they took her to one of the castle’s rooms to rest. Baldwin stayed by her side, holding her hand tenderly. Although his skin was marked by leprosy, his touch was gentle and full of love.

“Xica,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I don’t know what I would do without you. Please, come back to me.”

Xica, still in her dream, clung to the image of her parents. “I must be strong,” she thought, remembering Luisa’s words. “I must live for them, for myself.”

Finally, Xica began to wake up. Her body was in pain, and her mind was still clouded by the traumatic events. She slowly opened her eyes and saw Baldwin by her side, his gaze full of worry and love.

“Baldwin…” she murmured, her voice weak.

“Xica, you’re awake,” Baldwin said, relieved. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you open your eyes.”

Xica tried to move, but the pain stopped her. “Don’t strain yourself,” Baldwin said softly. “The healers said you need to rest and recover. You’ve been through a lot.”

“What happened?” Xica asked, trying to remember the recent events.

Baldwin explained what had happened, his voice choked with emotion. “Reynald de Chatilleau… burned down the slave quarters. Many died, but you managed to save many others. You are incredibly brave.”

Xica closed her eyes, trying to process everything. “My mother… where is my mother?”

Baldwin swallowed hard, unable to give her a direct answer. “I don’t know, Xica. We couldn’t find her.”

Xica felt a wave of sadness and despair. Tears began to roll down her cheeks. “No… it can’t be…”

Baldwin held her hand tighter, trying to console her. “I’m sorry, Xica. We did everything we could. I’m here with you. I will always be here with you.”

Xica clung to Baldwin’s hand, finding a small comfort in his presence. Though the pain of the loss was immense, she knew she wasn’t alone. She had Baldwin by her side, and together they would face whatever came.

As Xica recovered, Baldwin stayed by her side, watching over her. The sadness and despair were palpable in the air, but so were love and hope. Despite the adversities, they knew they had to move forward, for themselves and for those they had lost.

In her dream, Xica found herself with her parents again. The farewell was painful, but she knew she had to move forward. “I will always be with you,” she whispered, feeling the love of her family enveloping her.

Luisa and Emile looked at her with pride and love. “Live your life, my dear Xica. Be brave and strong. We will never forget you, and we will always be with you in spirit.”

With tears in her eyes, Xica nodded. “I will. For you. For me.”

She woke up again in reality, feeling a new determination. Though the path would be difficult, she knew she had to move forward. Baldwin, by her side, gave her the strength she needed to face the future.

Together, they knew they could overcome any obstacle. Love and hope would guide them, and although sadness would always be present, so would the memory of those they had lost.

[cu1tsmark]

"Heartstrings Unravelled"

For years, Haechan had been secretly in love with Y/N, his closest friend. He played the part of the gentle, caring softie to win her heart. However, as time passed, his facade began to crack.

A few days later, Haechan and Y/N sitting together at their favourite cafe while arguing while trying not to cause a scene.

Y/N yelled but in a whisper like tone, "Haechan, you can't keep pretending to be this perfect guy! It's not real!"

Haechan's eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a low, intense tone. "Maybe you don't know me as well as you think, Y/N."

Their argument left an unsettling silence between them. Haechan's desire to be true to himself was overwhelming.

He leaned in, his voice low and possessive, "Y/N, you've seen the sweet side of me, but there's more to who I am, and I can't hide it any longer."

Y/N's eyes widened as she felt the shift in Haechan's energy. She stammered, "Haechan, what are you...?"

But before she could finish, he reached out and cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing her jawline. "I want you, Y/N. I've wanted you for so long, and I won't hold back anymore."

His boldness left Y/N speechless, her heart racing. Before she could respond, Haechan moved closer, his lips dangerously close to hers.

Panicked, Y/N pushed her chair back, knocking it over, and fled from the cafe, making customers in the cafe turn their head towards the noise. Haechan chased after her, desperation and possessiveness driving him.

"Y/N, don't run from me!" he called out, his voice echoing through the empty streets.

But Y/N was determined to escape the intensity of the moment. She darted into an alleyway, her breath ragged, and found a hiding spot behind a stack of crates.

Haechan's footsteps grew louder as he approached, his voice filled with anguish. "Y/N, please, let me explain. I just couldn't keep pretending."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she listened to him, torn between her fear of the newfound intensity and the undeniable attraction she had always felt for him.

In that hidden alleyway, their destinies hung in the balance, their emotions raw and exposed. Haechan's possessive declaration had ignited a spark that neither of them could easily extinguish, leaving their friendship forever altered. Then haechan gave up to try and explain his situation to her as he walked away from the alleyway, leaving y/n alone

In the days that followed their intense encounter, Haechan and Y/N found themselves entangled in a web of emotions that neither could deny. The intensity of Haechan's confession lingered, leaving an undeniable tension between them.

One evening, they met at the same cafe, but this time, there was no argument, only a charged silence.

Y/N finally broke the stillness. "Haechan, I need to understand what's happening between us. What changed?"

Haechan looked into her eyes, his intensity now mixed with vulnerability. "Y/N, I can't keep pretending. I've loved you for so long, and I can't hide it anymore."

Y/N's heart raced as she whispered, "But why the possessiveness?"

Haechan sighed, a mix of frustration and longing in his voice. "Because I can't stand the thought of someone else having you. I want you all to myself, Y/N."

Her cheeks flushed, and she admitted, "Haechan, I've felt the same way, but I was scared."

Their honesty hung in the air, and Haechan reached across the table, taking Y/N's hand. "Y/N, let's not be scared anymore. Let's embrace our desires and see where they take us."

Her hand trembled in his, but she nodded. "Okay, Haechan."

With that, they leaned in, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss. The cafe seemed to fade away as they surrendered to the feelings they had suppressed for so long.

Their relationship blossomed, but it was not all smooth sailing. Their once strong friendship now had to adapt to the intricacies of romance. It wasn't long before they faced their first major hurdle.

One evening, while they were out on a date, Y/N received an unexpected call from her ex-boyfriend. She excused herself to take the call, leaving Haechan feeling uneasy.

When Y/N returned to the table, she noticed Haechan's furrowed brow. "Is everything okay?"

Haechan hesitated before saying, "Y/N, was that your ex on the phone?"

Y/N nodded, a touch of anxiety in her eyes. "Yes, it was. He wanted to talk."

Haechan's possessive instincts flared, but he tried to remain composed. "What did he want?"

Y/N sighed, "He wanted closure, Haechan. We ended things amicably, and he just needed to get some things off his chest."

Haechan's jealousy was hard to contain, but he realized he needed to trust Y/N. "I trust you, Y/N. Just be careful."

Over time, Haechan's possessiveness became a recurring issue in their relationship. He struggled to control his jealousy, which led to arguments and misunderstandings. Y/N loved Haechan deeply but was becoming increasingly frustrated with his behavior.

One evening, after yet another argument, Y/N said, "Haechan, I love you, but this possessiveness is suffocating. We can't keep fighting like this."

Haechan's eyes filled with regret. "I know, Y/N. I don't want to lose you, but I need to work on my jealousy."

As the months passed, Haechan's efforts started to pay off. He learned to trust Y/N more and give her the space she needed. Their relationship began to heal, and they found a new balance between love and freedom.

One day, Haechan took Y/N to their special place, the park bench where they'd shared countless moments together. He looked into her eyes and said, "Y/N, I've worked on myself, and I promise to trust you completely. I want us to be strong together."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes as she realized how much Haechan had changed for her. "Haechan, I love you, and I'm willing to give us another chance."

Haechan and Y/N's relationship continued to evolve, strengthened by their newfound trust and commitment to each other. They cherished the bond they had built, but life had more challenges in store for them.

One sunny afternoon, as they strolled hand in hand through the city park, Y/N suddenly stopped in her tracks, her eyes fixed on something in the distance.

"What is it, Y/N?" Haechan asked, concerned.

Y/N pointed to a small, abandoned puppy by a tree. "Look, Haechan, a stray puppy. It looks so lost."

Haechan watched as Y/N's heart melted for the poor pup. "What do you want to do, Y/N?"

She turned to him with determination. "I want to adopt it, Haechan. We can give it a loving home."

Haechan couldn't resist Y/N's compassion. "Alright, let's do it. We'll give that little guy a home."

Their decision to adopt the puppy marked a new chapter in their relationship. They named him "Choco" and quickly fell in love with their furry addition.

However, taking care of a puppy proved to be a challenging task. Haechan's possessiveness was put to the test as Y/N spent more time with Choco, tending to his needs.

One evening, after a particularly tiring day, Haechan admitted, "Y/N, I'm feeling a bit left out. It's like you're spending all your time with Choco."

Y/N understood Haechan's concerns. "I'm sorry, Haechan. It's just that Choco needs a lot of attention right now."

Haechan smiled, realizing he had been acting a bit jealous again. "I know, I just miss you, that's all."

They found a balance, making sure to spend quality time together while taking care of Choco. As they worked together as a team, their love deepened even further.

One year later, Haechan decided to take Y/N on a surprise weekend getaway. He led her to a charming cabin in the woods, far from the hustle and bustle of the city.

As they sat by the crackling fireplace, Haechan looked into Y/N's eyes. "Y/N, you've changed my life in so many ways. You've taught me to trust, to love, and to embrace new challenges."

Y/N's heart swelled with emotion. "And you've done the same for me, Haechan. You've shown me that love can conquer any obstacle."

With that, Haechan reached into his pocket, revealing a small velvet box. He opened it to reveal a sparkling engagement ring. "Y/N, will you marry me?"

With that, Haechan reached into his pocket, revealing a small velvet box. He opened it to reveal a sparkling engagement ring. "Y/N, will you marry me?"

Tears of joy filled Y/N's eyes as she nodded, "Yes, Haechan, a thousand times yes!"

Their love had triumphed over possessiveness, challenges, and even the addition of a furry family member. As they embraced, they knew that their journey was far from over, but they were ready to face it together as partners for life.

[dolokhoded]

Share with us your HC of how Judas fell in love with Jesus and if he knew from the begining! We need some gay drama going on here

okay gay people !!!! didn't wanna post this before i posted the 3rd part of the hcs (jesus, judas, john the baptist) but i'm going to anyways. gay rights !!!!! without giving away too much that will be included in the headcanons anyways,

jesus and judas went to the same university. jesus was in his third year when judas was in his first.

they sort of knew each other from a lot of activist events debates etc etc

little bit of a side note but writing about student activism as a greek person is so difficult i don't understand any of this. when our student union has a problem we just take over the building. we have a whole national holiday about it a bunch of students took over the athens polytechnic in protest against the greek junta. and then the junta entered with tanks and they died.

cops in universities are illegal now.

sorry anyways

they knew of each other. both majored in poli sci.

jesus tried to approach judas a bunch of times. usually when he spotted him at the library and he wasn't yelling at some random kid that tried to explain to him why capitalism is the most effective economic system

ended up helping him with a bunch of projects he also had to do in previous years.

anndd yknow, there's definitely something there

but after he graduated they sort of fell off ? they were never really that close anyways. not for lack of trying on jesus' part but judas is very...defensive. and distant.

anyways. judas graduates, couple years come around, jesus' team is really starting to expand and gain more traction and support and y'know it's going decently

they reunite in the only possible circumstances judas would act like a normal human being and not avoid as much socialization as possible which are he has no house.

judas is currently living with a boyfriend. shitty one. they fight a lot. he storms out on him and realizes he doesn't really have anywhere to go so he just kinda wanders

and he runs into jesus, who's on his way to a meeting with the rest of the group

(i really should give this group a name. it's supposed to have one but i haven't thought of it yet. it would be stupid to have an activist organization without a name pretend that it has a name)

and he sees judas and he's very happy to see him again and he's like hey you should come with me

and judas is very cold. and kind of miserable. and the odds of running into the hot guy from college like half an hour after you pretty much break up are very slim so he's like sure whatever.

long story short, judas joins the team.

and it becomes very evident very clearly that he's very passionate about their work. amongst.,. other things. people.

he doesn't do anything about this of course in true judas fashion he sits alone in anguish screaming crying rolling on the floor etc etc whenever he loses jesus' attention for one second

doesn't even consider that the times he loses jesus' attention?? it's not very often !

jesus claims it's because judas is ''tricky" and he wants to make him feel welcome but like everyone's whispering ang giggling and john sits in a corner with his arms crossed about it and shit.

of course judas doesn't do anything about this. and jesus knows, of course he knows, but he doesn't want to scare him away and is letting him kind of take this at his own pace

it takes them... a very long while. and then they have some weird thing going on between them for an even longer while before they actually talk about it and yes it is excruciating for everyone around them

they figure it out eventually

[xanhlaxalanh]

Since I was young, I have watched movies and read books from Japan about the wars that occurred around the world, in Vietnam, and in Japan. I have observed the common consequences of war left on the land of my homeland and Japan. In Vietnam, the lingering effects of the toxic Agent Orange have caused many ordinary people to become disabled, even affecting future generations from within the womb. In Japan, a country that already had limited resources, there is radiation contamination, with plants that no one dares to eat, and people suffering and dying in agony. Even until now, there are still areas that remain contaminated. I wonder how people can be so cruel, inventing weapons with the capability of destroying the entire world, annihilating the civilization that humanity took thousands of years to build. I don't understand, and I have pondered over it extensively.

Now, as I have grown up, I have read many books, learned a lot, traveled to many places, and met many people. However, there are still books I haven't read and things I don't know about. The story of the atomic bomb or nuclear weapons and Oppenheimer is something I have never known before.

I myself am not particularly intelligent or outstanding in the field of natural science, so I don't remember much about mathematics, physics, or chemistry. But I do know that engineers and scientists are often incredibly romantic and idealistic in their own way. Like reaching for the stars for the one they love, they truly think in literal terms and want to turn those impossible dreams into reality. Oppenheimer, being a physicist, was no different. He pondered the existence, presence, and disappearance of stars and the things considered to be material in this world. And the atomic bomb was just a manifestation of his thoughts, a result of his actions. He must have struggled between his passion and the consequences of his research. But he was a scientist, and his field was scientific research. How that research was utilized was not something he could control. What he did was driven by his passion for science, the purpose of his life as a scientific genius, whether it led to peace or war, selfishness or greatness, was not a rationale for his own mind.

And everything changed when Oppenheimer's research on the atomic bomb was successful. From being a scientific genius, he felt like a criminal, a harbinger of death. He was filled with remorse and guilt for those who perished because of his research. He longed for redemption, for forgiveness.

It's fortunate that there were still people who understood him, who stood by his side. But for the rest of his life, he lived with a torment that not everyone could comprehend. Many people, like myself when I was young, saw him as a grim reaper, as a destroyer for inventing such a devastating weapon.

However, the true culprits are those political masterminds, not the scientists. They are the ones who desire world domination, who seek power and sleep soundly with blood on their hands. They are the ones who believe they can govern the world for the greater good, but in reality, they don't care about what the world thinks or how innocent lives are sacrificed. They only care about their own ideals.

I truly immerse myself in Oppenheimer's world, as if I understand his thoughts. I feel the joy of carrying out his research, like Prometheus bringing fire to humanity. I feel the pain of people seeing him as a grim reaper, as a sinner in the eyes of God for bestowing godlike power upon mankind. And I feel the torment and anguish in his soul, as if he is burning his own conscience. "What should I do when I didn't want this, but everything has already happened? I want redemption, is it possible?"

He is an angel stripped of his wings, not someone who wanted to become the grim reaper.

For myself, I admire his brilliant mind, detest war, and those who deem themselves as rulers. Yes, they have their own ideals, and life is not simply black or white, right or wrong. But we are all human beings, and we should not, in the name of our ideals, commit senseless killings of innocent people. Do you agree?

I am always curious and eager to explore the world. My brain works even when I sleep, and in the inner world of my dreams, everything becomes vibrant and colorful. Therefore, I can perceive the joy and the pain of others. But what can I, a small human, do? Oppenheimer, I am just a little girl who understands you in an insignificant way. Even without you, there would still be other weapons, other creators of bombs serving warfare. I appreciate the contributions you have made to this world.

It is truly saddening when a genius becomes just a tool. It is heartbreaking when our ideals become a crime. It is devastating when we think we are angels, only to discover that we have become demons. It is agonizing when our hands are stained with blood, yet we are accused of being soaked in lies. It is sorrowful when we cannot find redemption, only tormenting ourselves. It is disheartening when right and wrong are no longer clear. It is mournful when our limited strength cannot compensate for the damages inflicted. It is distressing when both geniuses and fools alike experience such profound feelings of failure in life.

Perhaps I am too melancholic and empathetic, but I truly sense how deeply I love peace, the world, and nature itself. In the end, I gain a better understanding of myself and of this world. It is a significant step in my world.

[leapoffaith1980]

On Virginia Woolf and the "I"

Montaigne, the inventor of the essay, illustrates this modern cartesian subject of “I”. The “I” has allowed us to become subject in a world of objects. Although allowing for self reflection and understanding, we lose sight of the bigger picture. 

When drawing oneself out in writing, it is parallel with self discovery, yet to discover oneself is not easy and there are boundaries of language which do not allow us to understand in a fullest contentment. The pen, in etching our essences, is a rigid instrument “charging the natural stumbling trop of human speech into a solemn and stately march of pens”. One who is aware of himself though is lonely, and may seek solitude in his ostracization from discontentments of modernity. We must question our lapse with tradition and cultivation as Woolf says “book learning is nothing to be proud of, and as for the achievements of science, what do they amount to?" When questioning progress and this lapse, one may fall into a cyclical irony as the more one is able of self discovery it is a reflection of their philosophizing. It's kinda funny, as when I critique progress I have to understand my knowledge is a result of progress and education. I would not be able to achieve these conclusions if it were not for modernity and its great analysis and explanations. It is clear that nowadays “our intelligence dominates over our senses”. We must break through the cartesian notions of the duality of the body and brain, as one must have both! The body and brain (soul) are inexplicably connected as Woolf later mentions. This essay form, she critiques, is an effort of egoism, we cannot hide away in our towers. Though she also writes in essay forms, this allows us to understand that all extremes are dangerous and we must not be content in conformity. Because of modernity, all other things in the world, including persons and other sentient beings, have now become objects of thought, not subjects in their own right. Yet contrastingly, in the premodern world, the "I"  did not exist, it was the we; there was a view of the world as unity, celebrated in myth and tradition. 

Essays are in effort to communicate the soul, as Woolf critiques Montaigne’s ivory tower (literally and metaphorically) hermitting.* The human essence is in communication, we must understand differences. How can we have pleasure without pain, and how can we express pleasure without communication? In this, we see this balance that is so vastly important. 

Woolf says literature does its best to maintain that its concern is with the mind; that the “body is a sheet of plain glass through which the soul looks straight and clear and save for one to two passions such as desire and greed is null negotiable and non existent. But this is not true. The body and mind are the same.” To find our truths, we must have bravery and exploratory senses, just like a poet. 

In one of my favorite quotes, Kierkegaard critiques the poet in their inability to be understood. In Either/Or, he says “What is a poet? An unhappy man who hides deep anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry pass through them, it sounds like lovely music.... And people flock around the poet and say: 'Sing again soon' - that is, 'May new sufferings torment your soul but your lips be fashioned as before, for the cry would only frighten us, but the music, that is blissful.” In this we can understand why and how this premodern “feeling” is not substantial for the understanding of ones “true self” (as it is an important part of his philosophy). Yet in understanding that there is no real purpose, no explicit meaning in the universe to give “I” a meaning, it is truly up to us to find happiness and contentment, and through Woolf we understand that is through communication and feeling. “Poets have found religion in nature; people live in the country to learn virtue from plants. It is in their indifference that they are comforting. That snowfield of the mind, where man has not trodden, is visited by the cloud, kissed by the falling petal, as, in another sphere, it is the great artists, the Miltons and the Popes, who console not by their thought of us but by their forgetfulness…It is only the recumbent who know what, after all, Nature is at no pains to conceal — that she in the end will conquer; heat will leave the world; stiff with frost we shall cease to drag ourselves about the fields; ice will lie thick upon factory and engine; the sun will go out”. Maybe it is not only knowledge we need to seek out to understand ourselves, but in that lies the problem. With trying to understand yourself, you are also looking for laws to understand the universe, and rather one would understand more if one focused on comfort and our senses, the feelings and perceptions our body produces instead of solely focusing on the brain’s mathematic abilities. It is in that the soul and feeling is tied into one’s body as well as brain, as we see a beautiful sunset through our eyes and know with our minds. 

The mind and body are intertwined, as modernity has rejected, yet we have to understand feeling rather than knowing. Being ill opens one's mind up, as they have become rejected by society and bedridden, to their own thoughts. We maintain the illusion of being cradled in the arms of civilization and society, illness jolts us out of it and awakes us to the world about us. “Illness makes us disinclined for the long campaigns that our prose exacts. We cannot command all our faculties and keep our reason and our judgment and our memory at attention while carter swings on top of chapter and as one settles into place, we must be on watch for the coming of the next, until the whole structure, arches towers battlements, stands firm on its foundations” Illness allows us to be “able, perhaps for the first time for years, to look round, to look up — to look, for example, at the sky”. Yet once ill, we will always find health, and in that demonstrates the fluidity of life. 

I often find myself wildly fascinated and enamored by the divine words of my predecessor as Elif Boutman describes her character in Either/ Or  as “in a kierkegaardian breakdown”. My passion consumes me, seeing the ridiculous man as myself, understanding the truth from immense introspection and application of my knowledge in the real world. It is not realistic to hide away in our towers, waiting for our knight in shining armor to “save us” and take us away to the “truth”; though it is of the fable to believe so. Yet the truth in the fable is not knowledge, rather happiness. In this is the dialectic of modernity and its criticisms in the context of the self.  Like the briskness of the air as the leaves fall to replace the green and warm, we are always in constant motion. Our connection to nature will always reign true, we must not be stationary in our knowledge as one truth can always be objected to. I feel isolated by truth and knowing, hiding inside from those around me who do not understand. Yet I find quite solace in what Sylvia Plath said “Go out and do something. It’s not your room that’s a prison, it’s yourself”. No knight will save me from myself. In the bedroom, we are stationary, and all our objects are intertwined in us. Alike deMasitre demonstrates, we can understand ourselves when we are locked in our room only able to analyze the items which depend on us and us only. Yet this is quite reminiscent of cartesian notions, so the bedroom, unlike nature, does not connect us to society and allow us to feel and communicate. 

In a postmodern world, we must find this balance of ideology and methods, as we cannot revert society back into feudalism. What is important to understand in Woolf’s essay is the literary essence of understanding which she so magically enraptured us in. The fable did not seek to understand but rather to express, which is what she is trying to help us understand through her form. 

The philosopher needs time and isolation to contemplate and reflect, one cannot talk about the meaning of life with a mere cobbler. If you look to society to understand, they will laugh and shut the door in your face just as the wise man did to Candide. On this hand, one needs to hide away in their ivory tower like montaigne to try and discover oneself. Yet on the other hand, isolation will not offer communication which is valuable in moving away from a cyclical and depressing introspection. It is all in the balance, the movement of the seasons and the ability to reflect alone after release from solitude. Do not make yourself into Kierkegaard, as you may feel despair when you realize his faults. 

We will never be able to understand the universe. I  may study philosophy and history but how will I find the truth if I am not well acquainted with the artistic expression of the lacemaker? Surely the carpenter cannot play all the roles of the florist, the king, the scholar, and the shoemaker. Rather, gather all from the walks of life to discuss and rejoice in their shared life!

*It is important to note the historical significance of this, as Montaigne hid away in his tower for 10 years to eventually try and write, write something unlike all the other books on his shelf. What he came up with was the essay!

[tangleworm]

III THE EMPRESS: YUMI KITAGAWA

CODENAME: FOX

PERSONA: SHIZUKA GOZEN

[Joker][Mona][Skull][Panther][Queen]

I debated whether to change Fox’s arcana from Emperor to Empress. It would’ve been easy to just “flip” it without really putting much thought into it, but the Empress is associated with creativity and protection, which is a much better fit than the Emperor’s authority and control -- Yusuke could’ve probably had that arcana in the original material.

Finding an appropriate Persona was hard. Tomoe Gozen was already taken, as was Suzuka Gongen. Mochizuki Chiyome was a good analogue to Goemon’s ninja skills, but her loyalty to Takeda Shingen clashed with the rebel theme. I eventually went with Shizuka Gozen, a court dancer in feudal Japan who brought rain after 100 monks and 99 other dancers failed to do so. She also married Yoshitsune.

[lambden]

HI i'm here to share my fic for @yenbigbang that I actually finished in the spring but haven't been able to post until now! started writing it. had a breakdown. bon appetit

M, 11.6K, canon rewrite/soulmates AU where soulmates feel each other's pain Read on AO3 -- or read the first scene below!

Fringilla awakens in a panic, her eyes flying open as she writhes involuntarily. She thinks her spine must have split. Her body contorts as she tries to reach around herself to put pressure on the wound.

There is no wound. Her back is undisturbed, her linen nightgown soft to the touch. But white hot pain sears across her unbroken flesh and she howls loud enough to wake the Continent.

Her uncle is at her side in less than a moment. Her agony is obvious enough that he doesn’t bother wasting time with questions about nightmares; no child screams like this just because of a bad dream, not even one as predisposed to magic as Fringilla. Artorius takes her hands in his and tries to catch her frantic, terrified gaze in the dim light. “Where does it hurt?” he demands, his usual solemnity fractured by concern. “Where does it hurt?”

“It’s worse,” Fringilla sobs, desperately shifting to try to mitigate the pain in some way. “It’s not aching, it’s worse! My spine—”

Another wave of vivid pain hits her already tender back, and her jaw locks as she steels herself against the nearly unbearable anguish. Her uncle grips her hands tightly, sinking to kneel next to her bed. He lets her squeeze his palms with a near death grip, and he doesn’t offer a single complaint. Instead, a baffling warmth flashes across his countenance that scares Fringilla more than the phantom pain. 

Her uncle has taken her to the best healers in the world to try and divine the cause of her back pain, but each test has left them more perplexed than the last. Fringilla is perfectly healthy the majority of the time, but when her mysterious condition flares up, it can take her out for days. Before she can plead for answers Artorius pats her hands, oddly still smiling. “Fringilla, has anyone ever told you about soulmates?”

It takes her a moment to catch her breath and stop crying, and when she does her voice still wavers. “Yes… I know a little.”

Her uncle clears his throat, switching to the same voice he uses for work. Fringilla would beg him for comfort, but she looks up to her uncle more than anyone else on the Continent, so she listens raptly. “I believe that this pain isn’t truly yours, and maybe it never has been. Perhaps your soulmate has an affliction. Sometimes, in cases of a true bond, soulmates can feel each other’s pain. They carry it as their own, and sharing the pain lessens the burden. Do you understand?”

Chest still heaving, Fringilla nods. “Someone else… feels the same way?”

“Yes.” Artorius smiles again.

She sniffles. “How can I be rid of this?”

“A bond is a wonderful and powerful thing!” Fringilla stares, and her uncle releases a sigh and finally drops her hands. “As far as I know, you can’t.”

Hate spikes in Fringilla’s heart, sudden and intense enough to scare her. She inhales shakily and doesn’t say another word to Artorius, since she does not wish to disappoint him or ruin his excitement. But the frustration bubbles under her skin all night. It lingers long after he leaves her side, curdling as she stares at the dancing candlelight on the walls. Overwrought by passion, she decides that whoever her soulmate might be, she’s never going to forgive them for causing her such anguish.

Only as the candle finally flickers out does Fringilla sleepily realize that her soulmate has experienced the same awful pain, and the thought tugs at her emotions. She pouts, feeling guilty for her earlier annoyance, and whispers into the dark, silent room, “Feel better.” 

She isn’t sure if she’s talking to herself or a stranger or both, but somehow, the words soothe her back to sleep.

[Continue reading on AO3!]

[butter--peanut]

Could we have the pov of the goddesses watching over Kakashi/Obito? Would be so interesting!

I loved this request. Yes, here, for you!

Kamui Blues prompt request #7 (previous requests), goddess pov. (and possibly a reveal of the biggest easter egg hidden in the fic). ~650 words, g rated.

She wasn’t prideful. When her temple had burned, with all written knowledge of her destroyed and all verbal knowledge discarded, she had felt no fury for the outcome, no dismay but for the anguish she could feel in the minds of her true believers. Worship had come to her by accident rather than design; from nomads noticing too many moments of fortune and connecting these coincidences. Now that no worship remained, she was free of their prayers, their dreams, their blame when these dreams were not realised. Free to wander the earth, in human form sometimes, when the impulse hit her.

She wasn’t prideful, but she did play favourites, and oh, she loved to play. The Uchiha had always drawn her close, their emotions bubbling near to boil, flipping one minute from passion to rage to despair. She held a different set of morals to mortals, and she cheered their tears as much as their laughter: the goal, always, to feel deeply. She told the Sage that he’d fathered one interesting son and one cheerful bore. He grumbled like a deity Millenia older than his real age. (She was much older than chakra, although she learnt to play with this new energy too, linking it to emotions in her favourite family, making pretty patterns in their red eyes.)

She played favourites, but one day two favourites played her. They tugged on her incorporeal heartstrings and widened her all-seeing eyes and made her breath catch when she didn’t need to breathe. Gods cannot intervene directly, but within the scope of her abilities, she helped them. Where before she welcomed any outcome, now she wished for their love to last, despite all trials, despite the world. She gave them the same gift that she had, of feeling and connection, and she gave them space when they needed it.

They played her, and they changed her, just as much as she changed them. After they returned to the world they fought to fix its injustices, and by the time they passed she saw humanity differently, truly felt for their suffering. As a god she could not directly intervene, but in human form, with human limitations, she was free to write the score just as they could. She walked the earth and tried to live what they had taught her, though the goal remained, as always, to feel deeply.

She had longed for them to return, as people touched by gods sometimes did, but not like this. Not with their tragedy worse and their torment tearing them apart so soon after they had been drawn together. Not with one tipped so deep into loathing and the other to self-loathing. But because she knew what their love could become, she kept her faith. In human form she cleaned up after the damage left by one of them, and she hoped that somehow, like before, they would find their way back to each-other.

And they did.

She watched as they reclaimed their shared space. She listened to their banter and bickering. She felt emotions transform and evolve. She witnessed their conflict and their reunion. She rejoiced as they returned to the world, reunited and, like before, determined to fix what went wrong. She shamelessly cheered their kisses. She felt their delight, their suffering, and their love, as they once more came to understand what it meant to feel deeply.

She wasn’t prideful as a god, although she would sometimes feel pride when thinking of all she had achieved while human, using none of her skill as a deity. But whatever the form, she played favourites. These two had helped her to feel true compassion for others, and now she helped them in turn to fix their world. They didn’t know her true form, and they never would.

That would take the fun away, and she did love to play.

[somewhatgreatexpectations]

For The Lover That I Lost (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello! Welcome to part 9, inspired by Sam Smith’s “For the Lover That I Lost”. This now takes place post-civil war. 

Summary: Y/n and Wanda are finally able to talk. Will the talk end in love or tragedy?

“All of the memories feel like magic, all of the fighting seemed so sweet. All that we were, my love, was tragic and you're the last thing that I need.”

“Do you think we could have that talk now?”

For a moment you just stared at the clouds floating past the small window you were seated by and let the question hang in the air. She had given you space for a few hours, but you knew this moment was bound to come. 

The problem was that your healing was precarious, you knew that, and you didn’t know if it could withstand a conversation that was sure to open the wounds you had spent months patching up. 

“Y/n?” Wanda called, cautiously placed a hand on your shoulder. 

With a deep breath you turned your body to face her. “I thought about it, and I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Wanda.” You answered honestly. 

Her brow furrowed slightly, “I understand your hesitation, but-“

“Look, Wanda, allow me to save you the trouble.” You began steadily, “You’re sorry for how everything happened. I accept your apology. You don’t want to lose me from your life. Give me some time and then we’ll work on rebuilding the friendship. Did I get everything?”

She stared at you, her eyes troubled. “Well, not exactly, I was trying to-“

Once again, you interrupted her. “And I won’t stand between you and Vision.”  You added with a snap, as if you had just remembered something important. 

“Will you stop interrupting me?” Wanda exclaimed, shocking you into silence. “Sorry, I just-… I forgot how stubborn you can be.” She rubbed her arm in embarrassment. 

You stared at her silently, granting her wish of no interruptions. Waiting for her to get to her point, that you still weren’t sure you wanted to hear. 

As you observed her, you noticed the way she nervously spun the ring she was wearing on her finger while she seemed to ponder where to begin. “Have you always done that?” you gestured to her hands, unable to stop yourself from asking.

Her eyebrows raised at your question, obviously not expecting it. “I…” she thought about it for a moment, then ducked her head slightly. “I guess it was something that I picked up from you. For so long, your nerves were intertwined with my own that it just became a habit from watching you, I guess.” She mumbled.

You bit your lip and nodded but said nothing, taking note of how her eyes closely observed the action. You gestured for her to go on.

Wanda took a deep, steadying breath, making sure she maintained eye contact with you. “First, I am no longer with Vision. I haven’t been for months.” Your eyebrows raised curiously. “You were right though, part of what I wanted to talk about was how sorry I am. Y/n, I am, so, so, sorry. You deserved so much more than what I gave you. I don’t expect you to forgive me because I certainly don’t forgive myself.” The sincerity in her voice took you by surprise. 

The glassy look in her eyes and prominence of her accent were tell-tale signs of how upset she was. It was information you wished you didn’t know anymore. You dropped your gaze to your lap, it was easier this way.

“There is no excuse-“ she continued until a quiet knock on the wall made her stop. You both looked over to see a sheepish looking Steve Rogers standing a few feet away. 

“Sorry to interrupt. Again.” He coughed awkwardly. “I just wanted to let you know we’ve landed at our temporary hide-out. It’s that house up in the distance.” He gestured vaguely as the door to the quinjet opened to reveal an open field with an unsuspecting two-story house located in the center.

Under normal circumstances you would have thought it was a beautiful sight. The knowledge that you were all there on the run, tarnished that though. You let out a quiet breath. “It’s beautiful. Where exactly are we?”

“Spain. A very rural area at that.” He replied easily.

Despite the view, Wanda couldn’t take her eyes off you. She needed to talk to you uninterrupted and it seemed as though the universe was actively trying to prevent that from happening. All she could do was hope that this wasn’t an omen. That she still had a chance. 

“How long will we be here?” Wanda questioned, finally tearing her eyes away from you.

At the question, Steve shifted in discomfort. “A few days... if that. When Natasha arrives, it’ll be best if we split into small groups at most. We’re wanted fugitives now.”

“Natasha?” you asked with a tilt of your head, distinctly remembering her on Tony’s side.

Steve nodded. “She helped me and Bucky get out. She’s wanted now too.”

Both you and Wanda shared a look of surprise, Wanda speaking up before you could say anything. “Thank you for the update, Steve. We’ll meet the rest of you inside.”

With a knowing nod, Steve took the hint and turned to catch up with Sam who had already began walking ahead. “Guess we better head out.” you mumbled.

“Can we take a walk before we go in? I’d really like to finish our conversation.” Wanda requested hesitantly, her eyes pleading.

With another steadying breath, you nodded. She seemed determined and obviously wasn’t going to let this go. “Okay, Wanda.” You stood up and walked with her out of the quinjet, veering to a small path that was on the side of the house rather than going inside. 

After walking a decent amount, Wanda stopped and took your hand, effectively stopping you as well. You looked at her expectantly. She decided she couldn’t handle another interruption and decided to just be bold. “You’re the love of my life.”

Her words were so unexpected that you just stared at her for a moment, opening and closing your mouth as you tried to process. “I’m sorry, what?” you eventually choked out.

“You are the love of my life.” She repeated with three light squeezes to your hand. “Pushing you away – not fighting for you – was the biggest mistake of my life. A mistake I never plan on making again. I was confused and thought that my powers were tied to my heart. I was wrong. The only person that has ever held my heart and will ever hold my heart is you. I want to grow old with you. I want you for the rest of my life.” Her words were passionate and desperate as she tried to express the true contents of her heart, hoping you’d believe her. 

Disbelief was the only thing you could feel as you watched her shimmering eyes remain on yours. Shortly following the break-up you had dreamed of a moment like this. Not anymore though. You couldn’t. You had spent months learning to live without her. The risk of allowing her back into your heart came at much too high a cost. You wouldn’t recover a second time. “I-I learned to live without you, Wanda. I can’t risk it with you again. I’ve played before and lost.” You answered, finally pulling your hand out of her grasp. 

“Do you still love me?” she asked in a pleading tone, ignoring your words. She took your hands back in hers, you noticed that they were shaking ever so slightly. “Tell me you still love me. Please.”

You swallowed thickly and met her eyes, “I don’t love you anymore.” You said weakly, so weakly that you didn’t even believe it yourself. 

Wanda shook her head, clearly on the verge of tears. “I don’t believe you. I know you still love me. A love like ours doesn’t just go away. I love you, Y/n. Let me show you.” Without a moment’s hesitation, she took your face in her hands and connected your lips passionately.

Wanda sighed contently at the contact she had been missing, the way you both fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. The rush of electricity was a feeling she longed for. Getting swept up in the moment, you returned her kiss temporarily before the shock wore off and the hurt settled once again. 

Pushing at her shoulders you quickly stepped back. “You can’t just kiss me and expect everything to go away, Wanda.” You shouted at her. “I think I should go.” You mumbled turning to leave.

Watching you walk away again was a nightmare vision to Wanda and she would be damned if she gave up so easily again. She ran and stopped so she was directly in your path, preventing you from going any further. “Y/n, please, I can’t imagine my life without you” The tears she had been holding back bubbled over the surface and fell down her cheeks. You fought the urge to brush them away.

“You know, I used to think of you as the person that I was going to spend the rest of my life with too. As somebody who would never hurt me. Ever.” Wanda listened to you quietly as tears flowed more steadily down her cheeks. “Now all I see when I look at you is that last moment on the roof. Of you with him. It doesn’t matter what you say, or what you do… it’s too late.”

A sob escaped Wanda’s lips as she briefly covered her face with her hands. “Y/n, please… This can’t be it.”

“It is though.” Blinking back tears, you moved to step around her. 

“Y-you’re a coward!” She cried after you, at your retreating figure. The pain clear in her voice. 

Anger quickly replaced the anguish at her words. You spun around to face her, her jaw clenched. You couldn’t believe her. “I’m the coward? No, Wanda, you are!” you shouted back.

The woman in question ran a hand through her hair, tears falling even faster. She seemed at a loss. “You’re the one that chose to run instead of staying and fighting!” 

Her words made something in you crack, she had no right to be angry. To pin the demise of what you both once were on you. “How is that fair?” you snapped at her. “I was supposed to stay and fight for someone who had very clearly decided they didn’t want me anymore? You don’t get to pardon yourself. The ashes of our relationship are on you and you alone.” You gritted out bitterly. 

For a moment she just stared at you, her chest heaving as she clutched at her chest. Almost as though your words physically impacted her. “I…I’m sorry.” she took a deep breath and recollected herself. She reached out to you, you stepped back. Her face contorted in pain at the knowledge that you didn’t want her anymore. 

“I know I don’t deserve it and you have no reason give it to me, but please, give us a second chance. Let me prove to you I mean what I say, to prove that you… you are everything. There will never be anyone else. I love you.” her eyes met yours pleadingly, slowly breaking before your very eyes.

You took your own deep breath and braced yourself for the words you were about to say. “Wanda, we don’t stand a chance. It’s sad, but it’s true. We’re bound to end in tragedy.” You said quietly, staring off in the distance because you weren’t sure you could handle watching her reaction. “It’s time to move on.”

Like a magnet though, your eyes found hers either way. 

Broken. That’s the only word that came to mind when you saw her expression. Broken sobs left her lips. Her eyes glistened as they desperately searched yours for something, something that you had blocked off long ago. “You don’t mean that.” She whispered, her lips trembling along with her words. 

You shut your eyes for a moment and prepared yourself to close the door on what you both had. “Goodbye, Wanda.” You whispered as you walked off without looking back.

If you did, you would have seen the way she fell to her knees. The knowledge that she had no one to blame for her own broken heart but herself bringing her to her knees. She buried her face in her hands as sobs wracked through her body. Longing for the comfort of your arms.

Silent tears rolled down your cheeks as you listened to the sound of her cries in the distance, but you knew it was for the best... At least you hoped it was.

That night Steve announced that it would be in everyone’s best interest to split up for the time being as he handed out older phones to everyone so each of you could be contacted and check in. After his announcement everyone retreated to their room. You quietly let Steve know where you planned on going and told no one else. 

As you discreetly prepared to leave the following morning, you found a dozen flowers at your door, half purple violets and half white dittanies. The memory of the last time you saw these flowers filled your mind bittersweetly. A memory that no longer felt like it belonged to you.

When Wanda awoke, she was disappointed to find the flowers she had gifted you back at her door and the room you were staying in empty. Even if her heart ached, she knew that she couldn’t give up. She’d try and try again because your love was worth fighting for and she wouldn’t let you go again. She was determined to spend the rest of her life trying to win you back if she had to. There was no other path for her.

And there we have chapter 9! Angst, angst, angst. I got a little carried away lol. Only 3 more to go, where do you think the reader and Wanda will go from here? As always, hope you all enjoyed and thoughts and comments always welcome. 

P.s. did anyone catch a hint of a different Sam Smith song in there? It may be a hint for the next chapter, it may not be. Still deciding. 

[mandoalorian]

I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Twelve: Family

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person’s relationship with his son. You’ve heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You’ve felt his pain and anguish and you’ve never been able to relate to anything more. But things don’t come easy for you, and they certainly don’t come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: THE FINAL CHAPTER! very emotional, new beginnings, bullying mention, poverty mention, abuse mention, allusions to pregnancy.

Word count: 3000>

REBLOGS APPRECIATED.

Masterlist 

Previous - Chapter Twelve - Epilogue [coming soon!]

“I don’t know if I could do it,” Maxwell sighed, pacing around in anxious circles. He looked different, in his denim jeans and khaki-green cable knit sweater. It made a change from the oversized powersuits he once donned. Alistair was sat at the dining room table, colouring in, and Max was having a nervous breakdown about getting his haircut. “I’ve had the blonde in for so long.”

You smiled, running your fingers through his shaggy and unstyled hair. When it wasn’t perfectly coiffed, it was wavy and glossy, and smelled distinctly like the freshest green apples. “It’ll be okay. Think of it as washing away all the terrible things that went on in the past and starting anew. Like… turning over a new leaf.” 

You made a very good point. Maxwell knew he had to suck it up and just do it. It would be okay. He didn’t have to be Max Lord anymore, and he didn’t have this television persona to live up to. His main focus now was just being a father, and that’s all that mattered. All he needed to be, was himself. Maxwell Lorenzano.

“Daddy look!” Alistair smiled, waving around the piece of paper he’d spent the morning drawing on. It was stained slightly from his breakfast, and crinkled in the corners for where he’d applied slightly too much pressure when colouring, but all-in-all, it was perfect. Maxwell took the artwork and looked closely at it. Another typical family portrait of you, Alistair and Max. But this time, Maxwell was doting brown hair, and it reminded him of his younger days when he was first starting out as a businessman. “This is how you’ll look when you come home from the salon!”

“Wow Alistair, I love it!” Maxwell praised, unable to contain his grin. He held the portrait to his face and showed it off. “What do you think?” he asked you. “Do you think I’ll look good with the brown hair?” 

You giggled and nodded your head, before pressing the palm of your hand flat against Maxwell’s chest and brushing your lips against his. “You’ll look so handsome, I’m sure.”

“Ew!” Alistair cried, pulling the paper from his father’s hand as you kissed him softly on the lips. The curve of Max’s nose nudged against yours and he laughed at his son’s reaction.

“Alright,” you said, pointing your finger. “You better go. Don’t want to miss your appointment.”

Maxwell nodded and took a deep breath. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” he announced.

The second Maxwell left the house, your stomach began to twist. You’d been living at Lord manor for a month now but truthfully, it felt like a lifetime. It felt like you had always been there. You were adjusting to your new life pretty well, but this morning sickness that you had started to get was an unwelcome experience. Amazon’s never got ill, so this was brand new to you, and you weren’t enjoying it one bit.

You rubbed your stomach and took a sip of the glass of water that you’d been nursing. Sliding down to sit next to Alistair, you watched as he finished his drawing, adding a few final perfections. Once it was done, you hung it to the refrigerator and praised him for his hard work.

“Ali, why don’t you grab your shoes and we’ll have a walk down to the Smithsonian?” you smiled, grabbing your jacket that was hanging over the kitchen door.

“Ooh! Is there a new exhibition?” He enquired curiously, hopping onto his feet and fastening his shoe laces.

“I don’t think so,” you admitted sheepishly. “I have to go meet with some friends.”

Taking the bus was a new experience for both you and Alistair. Joe, Maxwell’s driver, would normally drive Alistair around to and from places. But not today. The bus was slightly smelly and the seats were sticky, but by the looks of it, Alistair was having the time of his life. He pointed out the window, grinning, and talked to you about all the different D.C. landmarks the both of you passed as you were driven into the city centre. He might have only been six years old, but that was six years of living in the world of man. You’d only been here for a month, and so Alistair could teach you a lot. 

Driving past the park, Alistair gasped, and shuffled into your body. “That’s the park where we first met,” Alistair pointed. You narrowed your eyes as you took in the sight of tall green trees and shrubbery. He was right. “Do you remember that day? You were wearing an awesome superhero costume like something out of my comic books. And you wore a tiara, and I asked if you were a princess. And you scared my bullies away, and helped me look for dad.”

“I remember.” you smiled, ruffling Alistair’s dark hair.

You remembered asking Alistair what his father looked like, and the only thing the boy could say was ‘strong, cool, and the best dad in the world’. Counting your lucky stars, you were so thankful you had found your forever family. You had come so far from that moment.

“Did you ever tell daddy… about those bullies in the park?” Alistair asked you hesitantly, his voice suddenly small and timid.

You pulled off him and looked him in the eyes. “No. Why?”

Alistair paused for a moment and glanced back out the window. “I was afraid he’d be disappointed in me.”

Your heart shattered in your chest. “Ali,” you said quietly, tears threatening to prick your eyes. “Your father could never, ever be disappointed in you. You know that, yes?”

Alistair nodded his head silently.

“He loves you so much,” you continued. “And the whole bullying thing… I think he’d understand better than anyone else.”

You remembered all the visions you had of Maxwell, even seeing him as a child at one point. You remembered him wearing rugged clothes that were too small for him and how he was picked on for his broken shoes. 

“Really? You think so?” Alistair asked.

“I know so,” you confirmed, pressing a kiss into Alistair’s hair. “Those bullies will never amount to anything if they continue doing what they’re doing. But you are so much better than them. Stronger. Your power lies in your heart, and in the truth, and in love.”

Alistair smiled. “You’re a real hero, aren’t you?”

“We’re all heroes.”

————

Yourself, Maxwell and Alistair loved trips to the Smithsonian. Diana always organised special access for the three of you, to go after hours when the entire museum was empty. Alistair was admiring the fish in the aquarium, when you noticed Barbara and Diana, and waved them over.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” Diana smiled.  

“It was sort of an impulse thing,” you explained. “Uhm, actually, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

You pulled Diana to one side and left Barbara with Alistair. “Remember how you said ‘I owe you one’, since I like… got your girlfriend to renounce her wish and kinda helped you save the world by destroying the second dreamstone?” you grinned, trying to hold back a laugh.

Diana rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. “What are you plotting?”

“Max has been… worried, to say the least. We’re going to have to sell Black Gold and it’s a real shame because-- he worked so hard on it. We have some money and well, I haven’t exactly ran this by him yet but I was thinking about investing what we do have into the Smithsonian. Just like what Maxwell promised to do in the first place.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Diana sighed. “The gemology department is doing just fine.”

You shook your head, your smile only growing. “No Di, that’s not what I was getting at. How would you feel about… expanding the gemology department?”

“I’m not quite sure I follow…”

“I’ve heard Barbara talk about how there’s a lack of space to facilitate all the rocks and stones the Smithsonian keeps bringing in. She has a real fear that the entire paleontology department could be shut down and replaced with something else.” You sighed, running your fingers through your hair.

“That’s true…”

“So what if we use the Black Gold building as an extension for the Smithsonian, and have it specialise in all these fancy rocks and gems and stones. We could transport everything over and then we could utilize the leftover funds that Maxwell has, to keep all the palaeontologists and geologists employed. Hell, with a whole new building, we could even create more jobs for people. It would also mean that we wouldn’t have to fire Max’s old employees and-- Oh Di, I just know Max would love it. He really does have a passion for gemology. And his son, Ali… he has an interest too.”

“So I heard,” Diana rolled her eyes, but, to be frank, she liked what you were getting at. An expansion wouldn’t exactly be a bad thing… “It’s a big responsibility though, and it seems you haven’t even spoken to Maxwell about it. You would get funding from the Smithsonian as an institution, yes, but… it would still be Max’s business. Do you really think he could handle that? After what happened to his last business?”

“He’s smart,” you assured her. “And he’s a good businessman. He knows all these things I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Last time he just got unlucky. But this, this could really be something great. We have the building, and the passion, and enough money to get started. Please Diana… I know you could make this happen. Please.”

Diana spent a moment pondering the possibilities before shrugging her shoulders in defeat. “Alright,” She sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

You grinned and squealed excitedly, wrapping your arms around your half sister and squeezing her tight. “Thank you Di!” She laughed and rubbed your back before you pulled off her. “Oh, and Di… there’s one more thing.”

Diana tilted her head and gazed at you with fresh bewilderment. Looking around the museum to make sure no one was around to hear what you had to say, you leaned into the Amazon and whispered a confession you’d been keeping to yourself for the past month. 

————

Maxwell sat in the chair and frowned upon seeing his reflection in the mirror. “What can I do for you?” asked the stylist as she smacked her lips on a piece of gum. Max wasn’t sure if he could really bring himself to do this, until he remembered your words. This was ‘turning over a new leaf’-- a new start and fresh beginnings. 

“Uh, a trim please,” Maxwell requested before taking a shaky exhale. It was now or never, he just had to take the leap. “No, that’s not everything,” he sighed. “Could you perhaps take the blonde… out of my hair?” The question left his lips with an air of unsurity. Could one even do that? Take the colour out of hair?

“You want the colour stripped?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. Maxwell supposed that was one way of putting it.

“Yes, I do.” he confirmed.

The stylist processed Maxwell’s words for a moment before shrugging her shoulders. “As you wish.”

As the stylist wrapped Max’s shaggy golden locks into foil, he closed his eyes. He’d come so far since the whole dreamstone debacle. His whole life had been a rollercoaster of up and down events but now, finally, things were evening out for him -- in the best way possible. He’d fallen in love and secured his family and home. The only thing he was mildly worried about, was the issue with Black Gold. But he knew that he’d somehow figure it out, especially now that he had you by his side to help him.

He’d always seen himself as an independent man. He fought hard to be as successful. He escaped his hometown, his abusive father, he ran away from poverty and was discriminated against by upper class white businessmen who told him he could never amount to anything. He proved all of them wrong. Because now, he had everything he could ever want. He didn’t need stacks of money or material possessions when he had you and Alistair. Maybe he wasn’t as independent as he once thought he was. Maybe, just maybe, he liked the company of others. He liked having you and his son around.

In his fight for wealth and success, he’d lost everything that mattered the most. But most importantly, he had lost himself. Maxwell swore that he’d never let that happen again.

As the stylist removed the silver foil from his hair, Maxwell nervously anticipated the result. His once bottle blonde hair was now a chocolate brown colour, and it reminded him distinctly of his youth. Max couldn’t help but feel like he looked younger, and he wasn’t going to complain about that. 

He just hoped you liked it as much as he did.

————

“I just don’t understand why mommy is taking so long,” Alistair grumbled as he and Barbara waited outside the ladies restroom. “And why did auntie Diana have to go into the toilet with her?”

Barbara stifled a laugh. “You’re inpatient, just like your dad.”

Impatience must’ve run in the family because you were sitting on the toilet seat, tapping your food as anxiety flooded your body. You didn’t expect to be this nervous. You’d wanted a child for so long -- in fact, your whole life to be exact. But now that there was a chance of it actually happening, you were beyond terrified. Maybe it was the fact Maxwell didn’t know about your symptoms, but you knew better than to feel alone. You were never going to be alone.

“How long left?” you asked Diana, who checked her wristwatch. It was an antique from the early 1900’s, something very special and something she kept very close to her heart.

“It should be ready now.” she told you, handing you the stick you had just peed on.

“I don’t want to look.” you squirmed, covering your face with your hands.

“Wow,” Diana hummed, her jaw parting slightly when she took in the results. 

“Wh-- what is it?” you asked, nervously.

“You’re pregnant.”

————

When Maxwell came home, you were shocked to say the least. His brown hair was absolutely gorgeous, and it suited him better than you’d expected. The deep shade was identical to the colour in his sparkling eyes. Jokingly, he tossed his hair and you let out a laugh.

“I was right,” you giggled, running your fingers through his locks. “So handsome.”

“I love it daddy!” Alistair cheered.

“Thanks buddy,” Maxwell grinned. “I like it too.”

Taking a deep breath, you took Max’s hand and pulled him into the living room, shutting the door behind you. It was quiet in there -- the perfect place to tell Maxwell your news. It had been a nostalgic day, and even standing in the living room reminded you of the time Max first brought you home. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked you, slightly concerned. But your warm smile soon eased him. You felt the need to wrap your arms around him and envelop him into a hug. Max had taken a big step today, and you were proud of him, but now it was your moment. It was now or never.

Harnessing every ounce of confidence within you, you took his hands and looked him in the eye. “Max, I’m pregnant.”

Max’s brown eyes widened and he was completely lost for words. “I-- you-- you’re--”

“Yes.” you smiled, taking his hands and placing them on your stomach.

His shocked expression turned into an elated grin as he processed the good news. “You’re really--”

“I am.” you confirmed.

You didn’t think you’d ever seen Maxwell so happy in your life. He wrapped his arms around you and held you so tight, like he was afraid to let you go. He swore in that moment he would never leave you, or his growing family, ever again.

This was it for him.

This was the start of Maxwell Lorenzano’s new life.

————

THE END.

————

Author’s Note: “I won’t cry” she says while sobbing into her Google Docs document. Thank you all for reading I Believe In Love. It’s a story I have wanted to share with you since I saw WW84 in the theatre, and I just can’t believe it’s finally over. This fic will always have a special place in my heart. The themes and plot points mean so much to me, but not only that, I’ve had the most amazing feedback on this fic and I will honestly cherish that for the rest of my life. I poured my heart and soul into writing I Believe In Love and it honestly one of my biggest comforts. I want you all to know that an epilogue is coming and if you have any requests for these characters I have created, feel free to send them my way. I adore my Amazon Goddess!Reader and I would absolutely love to continue their story at some point in the future. If you’ve followed me on this journey over the past four months, all I can really say is thank you. I love you so so much.

————

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[themaribatpit]

Jasonette July Day 14: Loss

Written by: The Maribat Pit  @jasonette-july-event Prompt: Loss Rated: T (Presumed Major Character Death) Based on the trailer for the upcoming Gotham Knights game: https://youtu.be/IhVf_3TeTQE (TW: flashing images towards the end of the trailer)

Jason is walking home on a rainy night in Gotham after a long day working with Roy.  He was hoping to quickly get back home to his girlfriend and relax for a few days. He felt his phone vibrate, he took it out from his pocket to see it was a call from Batman. The words “Incoming Transmission: Code Black” were written boldly across his screen. Jason had a bad feeling about this. He walked into a nearby alley and looked around to see if he was truly alone before taking this urgent call.

He was unsure whether to pick up the call or not, his relationship with Bruce had been strained ever since he was killed by the Joker and came back as the Red Hood. Even if they had reconciled, they still argued and disagreed with one another.  This was probably him asking if he was willing to go undercover again like he had done with Black Mask.  He continued to stare at the phone, thinking of all the possible reasons that Bruce may have wanted to call him. “What is Code Black?” He thought to himself as he answered the call.

His phone sparks to life with the image of Bruce, Jason immediately knew something was wrong. Bruce never showed his face in any Bat related communication. “If you’re watching this, I’m dead.” Jason could not believe what he was seeing, he barely registers the rest of the message. Thinking back to how he first met Batman, trying to steal the wheels off the Batmobile. To him, Batman was invincible, invisible and unstoppable. After all his training as Robin and even after his return as Red Hood, a small piece of him had felt that Batman could not be beaten. He had watched Batman face aliens from outer space and gods from another world. Knowing that Batman was well and truly gone felt...impossible.

He slowly trudges home, his vision blurs as he slowly makes it home on autopilot. He enters his apartment, not even taking his wet clothes or shoes off. Marinette hears him walk in, “Welcome home Jay, I made boeuf bourguignon.” Jason doesn’t even notice her, and in that moment she knew something wasn’t quite right. Normally Jason would joke about how it was a miracle nothing was burning, it could happen, given how clumsy Marinette was.  He slowly drags his feet to the living room and slumps on the sofa, his head in his hands. Marinette peeks her head around the corner, looking visibly concerned.  

Marinette slowly walked to the sofa and sat next to Jason, putting a hand on his thigh. “Jay?” she quietly asked.

Jason’s voice begins to crack “He’s gone, I can’t believe it, he's really gone.” He lifts his head up to look Marinette dead in the eye, “Mari, Bruce is gone.”

Marinette gasps, she had heard the news report but she didn’t think it was true.  She had assumed it was the start of an elaborate ruse, but the look in Jason’s eyes told her otherwise.  Marinette knew Jason and Bruce’s relationship was complicated, but he was visibly hurt and shocked by the news.  Jason wanted a lot of things, he never really wanted Bruce to die, not like this anyway. If that were the case he would have gone through with his plan of blowing up the Batmobile, all those years ago.  Marinette reached up to gently wipe a tear from his face, he held her hand close to his face before she could pull it away.  It was the first of many that would be shed at that moment.

For so many years, before and after he died, Jason wanted Bruce to understand him.  He seemed like a pointy-eared brick wall at times, he never thought there would come a day when it would fall.  Batman had almost seemed untouchable, even when Bane broke his back, he came back stronger than any of them.  Marinette gave a startled little squeak as he pulled her close to him, before wrapping her arms around him. He pulled away slightly but her face was still very close to his, he ran his thumb along her cheek as she leaned into his touch.  He savoured the warm softness beneath his fingertips.  His teary eyes looked into hers for a moment, before he leaned in close to kiss her.  At that moment, he needed to feel the warmth that radiated off of her.  He needed to hold her close to him, he needed to know that she was really there, and not just a cruel fleeting dream.  

Marinette was surprised, in the years that she had known him this wasn't a side of Jason that she had seen before.  There was a feeling of desperation in that kiss, one that only Marinette was privy to.  Whenever Jason kissed her in the past, sometimes it was passion, sometimes with a gentle softness, and other times because he took a certain delight in making her blush.  This time there was passion, but almost never with the desperation and anguish he felt at that very moment.  By contrast, Marinette was a lot more trusting, more forgiving, more optimistic.  It was something that Jason didn’t take lightly, especially considering the person he was by comparison.  With the Kwamis' help, she had seen him through his bouts of pit madness.  Nevertheless, when the kiss broke, she was breathless for a moment, but she didn't pull away.   She rested her forehead against his, brushing aside the occasional tear from his eyes.

For the rest of the night Jason continued to hold Marinette close to him, his chest heaved with sobs every so often. Even with his complicated relationship with Bruce, he was still the one who adopted, taught and cared for this street urchin of Gotham. As the two held each other, Jason’s phone began to ring, displaying Nightwing’s blue bird symbol on screen. Jason took out the phone and looked to see who was calling. He stared at the screen, unsure how to talk to Dick after the loss of Bruce. He looks back to Marinette, ”answer it” she told him with a gentle smile, he needs to be with his family now.

Jason took a deep breath and answered “Hello?”

He could hear Dick’s voice, unusually hoarse on the other end “Hey Little Wing, you saw the message didn’t you?”

Jason solemnly responded “Yeah. I got his message.”

“We need you Jason, just as Bruce said, Gotham needs its guardians. We’re all here at the Belfry. Babs, Tim, Steph, even Duke and Cass. Are you with us?” asked Dick.

Jason looks back to Marinette, who then nodded to him with a smile and mouthed “Go.”

He turns back to the phone, “I’ll be there in an hour, Ladybug can handle things here”.

As he ends the call and stands up from the sofa, Marinette puts a hand to his chest and lifts a finger, signaling to wait just a moment before running to the bedroom. She returns with two wrapped presents, “They were meant for your birthday next month, but...I think you need it now more than ever.”

She places the two boxes next to Jason, and asks him to open them up. Jason picks up the first box, slowly unwrapping to reveal new body armour. His eyes widen, he runs a hand across the large red bat symbol on its chest.

“Mr. Fox and I worked on this for you, he may be an excellent inventor but he lacks a tailor’s touch.” she explained. Taking out a cue card from the gift box, Marinette clears her throat and begins reading from it. “The tri-weave bodysuit consists of an outer and inner layer made from a titanium-dipped tri-weave fiber mesh.”  Marinette tried to read the words with some confidence, despite the fact that English was her second language. She wasn’t even sure if English speakers understood what these words meant. “Sandwiched in between is the MR-fluid based liquid armor system. The proprietary WayneTech Smart MR-fluid hardens in response to impacts, specifically designed to provide superior shock absorption.” As she read the cue card, Marinette thought working these materials into the design was challenging enough, never mind having to list out what they were for.  Still, not everyone had her magical super suit, so she never really thought about how a normal human would have to shield themselves.  Judging by the smile growing on Jason’s face, clearly she was reading some things right. “The liquid body armor layer is also more flexible than the ceramic or fiber-based armour, allowing for greater maneuverability.”  Marinette took a breath and gently placed the cue card back into the box, “I hope you understood those words, because I didn’t” she joked, and for the first time since he’d come home she saw Jason smile. “I also modelled it after your favourite hoodie for maximum comfort.” Saying the last two with emphasis as if it was the most important thing when it came to armour.

Jason chuckles, “This is perfect Pixie, thank you.” As he stands up to give her a hug, she stops him and gestures to the other gift. As he opens the second box he sees within a new Red Hood helmet. “Same materials as your suit. Light, breathable and comfortable.”

Jason picks up the new helmet and begins inspecting it from all angles. He is curious about the black embellishments around the vision slits of the helmet. “Hey Pixie, what's with the dark eye rings?” he asks, turning his head to face her.

She gives him a wink “Red Hood with a pinch of Ladybug.”

Jason places the helmet down and goes to the bedroom to change into his new armour.  Tikki zooms over and both of them give each other a firm nod. If Jason was putting his trust in Marinette to hold the fort here, there was no way she was going to let him down.