#and that he'd never done anything to betray his trust

[baby-tini]

Can I request cheater! Bonten Mikey (angst) but then regretted/ try to win her back? Thank you in advance!

TW- Cheating, implied abuse You didn't know how stressful running a gang could be- much less the biggest criminal organization in the whole of Japan. So you thought it might be best too give Mikey some space, give him time too himself and let him relax. You fully trusted Mikey, he's never betrayed your trust, never lied to you and never gave you a reason too doubt him. He was sweet to you, buys you the prettiest things and treats you like a princess. But, when you got back to his office, after being out for a couple hours, you could hear the sounds of skin-slapping and the creak of his desk. You didn't have too open his office door too know what was happening and you didn't, you doubted you could handle seeing Mikey like that, especially with another person, you knew he wasn't... as attentive as usual but, it wasn't too weird for you. Mikey just needs some alone time, you didn't think it would be anything like.. this. You didn't know how fast you ran out of the building, your head was so foggy, everything felt.. fake.

You knew you couldn't stay, that was it. You loved Mikey, promised too stay- he made you promise him over and over again until your throat was raw as he stared at you blankly. But, you couldn't take knowing that he was so intimate with someone else, so... physically connected to someone that wasn't you. You truly believed with everything that Mikey would never do something like that- like this to you. But then again.. you truly didn't know anything about Mikey, he never opened up, never gave you any unnecessary or personal details from his childhood or his life in general. You packed everything you could fit in your bag as soon as you got to the penthouse you shared with Mikey- well, not really shared.. he payed for everything, it truly was a beautiful penthouse but you couldn't stay. How long and how many you wondered, did he ever fuck women in the bed you shared together? Did he ever caress your cheek with the same fingers that were.. inside someone else...? Ever kiss you after kissing someone else? Ever.. ever spread your legs open and make love to you after he was done with someone else? Did he ever think of someone else as he fucked into you and told you he loved you? You knew he kept a stash of cash in the closet in case of emergencies, he told you if anything ever happened it would be there, should you need it, knowing he couldn't be with you all the time. It felt like a good reason so you took it, took a good couple thousand dollars, at least enough too last while you figured everything out and got far away from him. You couldn't.. go back after this, this was just too much. You knew realistically this could never be fixed and there was no going back for the both of you, you just hoped that Mikey would leave you be after he found you gone, would accept the note you left in place of your presence. It had been a couple hours after you left when he came home, exhausted and yearning too relax with you. He didn't like that you never came back to his office, but that was probably for the best, considering the session he had with that woman took a lot longer then he thought, but it's no big deal, her pussy wasn't nearly as tight as yours anyway. He quickly became irritated when he kept calling your name, you know he hates repeating himself, you've had bruises before, physically showing you how much he hated repeating himself. But, he'd just have to teach you anothe rlesson, be a little firmer with you this time. He froze when he saw the room you shared together a mess, clothes thrown about and the closet door open, the room was a mess the bedsheets were tossed and the gun he kept hidden away behind the clothes in the closet were gone. He had immediately grabbed his phone, planning too have all of his executives out looking for you, assuming it was a kidnapping at first. Until he saw the note, the white paper crinkled and under messy, crinkled blankets. Assuming it was a ransom note, he snatcjed it, eyes looking for a sum of money, when he didn't find one, he read over the paper carefully, making sure he didn't miss a word.

"Mikey, I truly don't know how too start this note... something like this has never happened before- never thought it would happen to be honest with you. I never thought you would do something so... unforgiving, after all the moments we shared together. The way you'd hold me when I cried, the way you'd kiss my tears away. I never knew a man like you could be so gentle, but you were. You held me, treated me like fragile glass, sometimes I thought, that you thought I would break if you were too rough. The way you would hold me while you made love to me, made me promise too stay and I did, but.. I can't anymore after hearing you in your office with someone else. The thought of you being so intimate with someone breaks me.. it'll break me for a while. I don't think I could ever look into those beautiful onyx eyes that I love- use too love. Knowing you've looked into others eyes as you did mine. I can't bare the thought of you holding someone as they called out your name, kissed you as they yearned for your touch. I promised too stay... but this is the only promise I'll ever break to you. I love you, more then anything, I'll always love you even when I'm gone. I just wished you'd feel the same. Goodbye Manjiro Sano, hopefully forever." There were wet spots on the note, bleeding through the paper as he got to the end. Reaching up to his burning eyes, they were wet, vision clouding and becoming blurry as his wet lashes stuck together. The salty tears ran down his cheeks as his hand started too shake and his breathing became heavier. He was struggling too breathe, too understand the note, his head was foggy and blank.. but also over-whelming with different scenarios of you, he doesn't even recognize his own voice when it comes out hoarse and rugged. You're walking out of his life, and as you wanted, possibly forever. "I can't... that can't happen angel. You can't leave- can't leave me. You promised and I won't let you break that promise. You'll understand how much I love you when I get you back" He pulled his phone out, calling Sanzu too immediately track you down, you belonged with him- with home. You were- are everything to him, the only thing left that he holds close. He's selfish, he knows that, he knows why you left but he didn't actually think you would... his chest hurts, feels like it's caving in on itself. He needs you, more then he thought, he can't and he won't let you leave- let you just walk away from him like this. Over his dead body.

[murainhell]

I really like Alastor and Rosie, so I spend a lot of time thinking about them and I am fascinated by the different approach they take to obtaining power and deals.

Alastor is all about control. Yes, he's going to do something for you, but you have to sign that you're going to pay him back one way or another. Binding deals, there's no escape, he has secured his end of the bargain. Like with Vaggie, he'll make the commercial but they can't bother him any more on that subject; no argument there.

Rosie, on the other hand, deals in favours. I suppose this is old information, but I remember reading that most of Hell owes Rosie a favour. And that makes her a powerful and dangerous Overlord, in Alastor's own words. Seeing the way she acts with Charlie, I think Rosie plays with psychology and little manipulations. For example: have one thing for free -> it'll make you more likely to buy something much more expensive next time.

Let's face it, Charlie owes Rosie a huge favour right now. Rosie's been friendly, she's helped her with Vaggie, a lot of her cannibals have died to protect her hotel… Right now Rosie can ask for anything. "Oh, no, we've had to take up donations for the families of those we lost…" and out of sheer guilt Charlie is going to try to repay an emotional debt.

Alastor could be in this situation if he wanted to. He's helping the hotel, almost giving his life to protect it, Charlie is genuinely glad to see him at the final song. If he says the right words, Charlie is going to help him with anything. Help him escape from his deal? Sure, anything for my friend! But no, he needs total control of the situation, so he secures the little favour with a deal.

And another difference between them that I like, Alastor needs to be sure he has this future favour in his hands before telling Charlie what he knows about the angels. Rosie just as soon as she sees him offers Alastor information! If he acts on it, that's when he would owe her the favour.

When she says that Alastor has never done her wrong it makes me think that their relationship is forged around Rosie's way. Not binding deals, because then he'd be bound by them; if she can say that nothing wrong has happened, it's that Alastor had the opportunity to betray her.

And he hasn't!

In a place where only the worst go, two such powerful demons, one of them famous for destroying the souls of other Overlords… they are able to maintain a friendship around the trust that the other will always honour the favours.

Their friendship means a lot to me, I hope we see them interacting more in s2.

[rowretro]

YANDERE ENHA REACTION:

you ask for cuddles after they had punished you

✧warnings: toxic/yandere themes, somewhat violence

✧synopsis: Yandere Enhypen as your boyfriend. They had punished you for a mistake you had done, perhaps running away or interacting with another boy, and yet there you were asking them for cuddles...

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

✧LEE HEESEUNG✧

He just snickerred. It wasn't that long ago when he caught you hiding behind a tree, burying your face in your knees, hoping he didn't find you. It wasn't that long ago when he locked you in the basement, chaining you to the wall, depriving you of comfortable sleep, good food and even water. Yet here you were in front of him asking you for cuddles.

He fucking loved it goddamit. You needed him, you wanted him, and even after all that running away and Ethan Lee's torture, you were still in love with him. "Hee hee pleaseeee" you whined with a pout, fear still evident in your eyes. "Then promise me you'd never pull such a stunt ever again kitten..." Heeseung said as you promised him. The male smirked, satisfied, and carried you to his room as he really did miss having you in his arms when he'd peacefully drift off to his dreamland.

✧PARK JONGSEONG✧

Jay scoffed at you. The audacity to run off like that when he wasn't home. He trusted her for one day. only to find the lock broken and his girl gone. So he punished you. and here you were, 2 days after, the wounds barely healing, asking for cuddles "You think you deserve any?!!! I spoil you with everything and yet you broke my fucking trust. Go sleep and do not touch me." Jay warned, putting a pillow between them.

For at least a week or even a month, Jay would put up this cold facade, seeing you cry and beg, and have meltdowns. He needed you to crave for him, just as equally as he craves you. At least a month passes, and he hugs you tightly, placing soft kisses down your neck, and finally letting you cuddle him "See princess? you need me... so don't ever run off like that okay?"

✧SIM JAEYUN✧

How could you run away y/n? all he ever did despite kidnapping you and killing your boyfriend, was love you dearly and buy you everything you've ever wanted, yet you betrayed him, you hurt him, you fucking ran away. So it was no surprise you were stuck in the basement, with healing cuts and a growling stomach. As soon as Jake let you out, he made you a nice meal to make up for all those days, he helped you shower, and treated your wounds.

Yet he was so cold toward you. "Jakey... c-can we cuddle?" you suddenly asked as you softly tug on his hoodie. The male turned around to look at you. oh the desperation in your eyes, you wanted to be in his arms. It was like everything he suffered for was worth this very moment. "Of course darling, anything for my love" he said with a smile as you hugged him tightly and fuck. he fucking loved it.

✧PARK SUNGHOON✧

Sunghoon was one to get easily jealous, plus him being a yandere, it's surprising he even lets you go out. The man just wanted to take you out on a nice date. You, him and the beautiful scenery. Yet there he saw you smiling and talking with Sunoo, his best friend who happened to be your cousin. He was fucking mad. As soon as you got home you regretted even looking in Sunoo's direction.

You were still bleeding from Sunghoon's punishment, and yet he saw you on the floor, cleaning up the smashed shards of glass that pierced your skin. He picked you up and slipped off your clothes, treating those cuts and slipping on one of his shirts on you. The man silently cleaned up all the smashed fragments, and mopped the floor, not wanting you to get hurt. "Hoon... can we cuddle?" you asked as the man looked at you "Fine..." he trailed off, finishing up the cleaning as he joined the bed with you

✧KIM SUNOO✧

Sunoo wasn't the type to get jealous that easily. Yet when he saw you smile at Haruto, and laughing at his jokes, he was beyond jealous. He was fucking pissed. The whole car ride home was filled with arguments and as soon as you got home, you knew what was going to happen. He yanked your jacket off of you and threw you in the basement, locking the door while you screamed and cried for him to let you out. He fucking hated your attitude.

When he did let you out, all he could do was smirk. You weren't arguing or glaring at him, you weren't biting at him every ten seconds. You was silent. Sunoo dried your hair and brushed it "So pretty... love you most when you aren't being a bitch to me you know love?" Sunoo asked as the girl turned to him. "C-Can we cuddle?" you asked as Sunoo smiled "Of course we can pretty girl, right after I do your hair" He said with a smile, kissing your nose.

✧YANG JUNGWON✧

Jungwon can easily hide how he's feeling when he's around others, which is probably why you failed to notice how jealous he was when you were smiling and laughing with one of his colleagues. But you knew what you were in for when you saw the glare Jungwon sent you. You immediately pulled away from the male and went to Jungwon's side. Since that day, you were chained to your bed, wounds barely healing and you so badly wanted Jungwon.

The male walked in and out every now and then ignoring your cries. "J-Jungwon please can we cuddle?" You finally asked. It was way beyond your punishment time, and he missed you like fucking crazy. so he unchained you, and kissed your forehead "Go shower first, then we can cuddle." he said as the girl nodded.

✧NISHIMURA RIKI✧

Everyone knew how much Riki hated Jisung. So to see you, his own girlfriend, help him had him insanely raging. Fuck what pissed him off more than that and your smiles, was the way the male checked you out. Riki dragged you home, slapping you as soon as he locked the door. Fuck he was so mad, locking you in the basement after piercing his initials into your thighs. He didn't let you stay in there for over a day. He didn't want you to die, he needed you alive, he needed you full stop.

So he let you out, helping you shower and get dressed into his clothes, after treating your wounds. This side of Riki, you loved like crazy. "I should just tattoo my name on you... maybe on your lower back, it's be pretty there, or on your wrist, gotta make it tiny tho-" "Riki can we just cuddle?" You ask as he stared at you. After a while he just kissed you, trailing more kisses down your neck "Stupid y/n... you can't let that mother fucker push you around like that baby" Riki said as he snuggled you, your head buried in his chest.

[clauscielo]

✧ yearning

pairing: joel miller & reader, arthur morgan & reader.

warnings: angsty. self-conscious, touch starved men. age difference, slight nsfw for joel.

requests are open!

joel looked at himself over and over again in the mirror. it had been so long since he'd cared about his appearance… last time he'd worried about looking good was in his teens. he would've laughed if someone had told him a few years ago that he'd be worrying about this again.

but here he was. looking at himself with contempt. his wrinkles, his gray hairs… the bags under his eyes, his teeth, his skin marred by sun and survival. and when, somehow, he finally managed to find himself..., not necessarily attractive, but halfway acceptable, he'd then look at you and his whole world would fall apart.

you were beautiful.

no matter how hard he looked at you, he couldn't find a single flaw. in some conversations you had mentioned some insecurities you had, but he was unable to understand them. you were just perfect.

“are you okay? you were taking so long,” you said, concerned. and he just stared at you, pained, analyzing every detail of your face, comparing it to his own.

“i'm fine. let's go,” he replied with a heavy sigh. his voice quivered slightly, perhaps from the effort he made carrying his backpack, or from something else.

he had long ago realized his feelings for you. normally he wouldn't care about feeling something for someone, attraction, or whatever. but this was different. he wanted you, deeply. he drooled over you. every night, he closed his eyes, imagining how your bare body would look, how your bare breasts would be, how it would feel to be inside of you. god, he hated himself for it, but he loved to fantasize about you before he went to sleep, the image of you being the last thing on his mind before he drifted off to sleep, sometimes even conjuring up dreams that were exquisite to him.

but when morning came, he could hardly look you in the eye. he felt disgusted, ashamed. you trusted him, and joel felt as if he was betraying you, with all these thoughts of his.

you were too young for him. you were too naïve for things to work out between you two. you were… too good for him.

and yet, he still allowed himself the luxury of watching you sleep when you rested next to him some nights, leaning against his shoulder, your lips half-open, soft little snores escaping from them. he loved you. he really did.

“you get some rest,” he whispered, stirring on the couch, a little restless. the scent of your hair flooded his nostrils, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back. he wasn't sure he could take much more of this.

“joel…” you snuggled a little more against him. “take me to bed…?” you whispered, half asleep, if not completely asleep.

“ah… sure,” he murmured. he carried you in his arms and gently, laid you on your bed. you opened your eyes a little and as he looked at you, he felt like kneeling before you and begging your forgiveness, for all the things he craved with you, for being so nasty and for never being enough.

“don't go,” you asked, your voice low. and he nodded, his gaze low with guilt.

“i won't, baby,” joel said, his voice barely a whisper, “i won't.”

you hated washing dishes. you preferred anything to this. you didn't know why, but it disgusted you terribly. the remains of breakfast mixing with the remains of lunch and dinner under water and soap... and when you touched some lump of unknown origin without wanting to, you panicked. was there anything worse than this?

being in a gunfight, maybe. you weren't so sure either.

whenever it was your turn to do the dishes, you procrastinated longer than it actually took you to clean them. you'd spend a whole hour whining, dreading the moment you'd have to face such a horrible, excruciating task. and then it would only take you fifteen minutes to get it done. it was the same thing, every time.

so arthur, whenever he got the chance, helped you. almost every time, he stood in for you, he cleaned up while you stood by his side, chattering about whatever nonsense, his gaze lost in your smile, his mind in the sound of your voice.

and of course, every time he got you off the dishes, you were so effusive with your words and gestures of gratitude.

“i sure do ‘ppreciate this, arthur. thank ya kindly,” you sighed, stroking his arm and squeezing it a little. he relaxed under your touch, a goofy grin creeping across his face, his cheeks warming.

he felt like a complete idiot. a young lady as pretty, as cheerful, as deep and intelligent as you, with a bitter simpleton like him? it was ridiculous. it would never happen.

his smile faded as he stared at the dishes he was washing. his chest ached at the thought that he could never be honest with you, could never touch you, hold you, whisper the words of love he thought every time he looked at you. he was disgusted with himself for being so attracted to someone like you. what the hell was he thinking?

arthur would do anything to make you happy. and it might seem stupid, but seeing you so relieved and grateful for something he did, even if it was as silly as washing the dishes, made him feel... important. important to you. and he loved it when you stayed by his side while he did it, telling him your stories, your thoughts.

he just wanted you to love him. and he liked to fantasize that you did, every time you touched him, every time you smiled at him, every time you got close to him because you wanted to and not because you had to.

“thank ya so much, arthur. you're the best,” you told him, with a coy smile, watching him dry his hands after he had washed each and every one of the dishes. he smiled sadly. he didn't want this brief moment with you to end.

“thank ya? the hell ya mean? that’ll be five dollars,” he replied, jokingly. you laughed.

“how ‘bout one little kiss? that enough for ya?” you asked.

he turned red and stammered, surprised by your answer.

“and what good would a kiss from you do me?” he replied, defensively, flustered. but when he saw your smile fade, morphing into an expression of embarrassment, he regretted it. “i’m sorry. didn’t mean it like that. just caught me off guard,” he muttered.

you giggled, stood on tiptoe, and planted a sweet kiss on his cheek.

[fanged-fanfics]

Hello! Can I request headcannons or anything with the gn reader being besties with Macaque while also being Wukong's S/O? I imagine that the reader befriended Macaque somewhere during the adventures, or perhaps during the time when Wukong was possessed by LBD? Idk, I leave that up to you.

Please and thank you.

🧡👑A King's Petty Squabbling — Wukong x GN Reader HCs👑🧡

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚｡⋆୨👑୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

- Wukong loved everything about you, that was no secret. He wasn't shy at letting you or anyone else know about how much he cared for you, he'd put aside his reservations any day to make sure you knew about his devotion to you. If there was ever one complaint in the entire world he'd ever have to make, it'd be your unfortunate choice of friends

- During his time of possession, you'd gotten closer with Macaque. It was a purely platonic bond, but Wukong couldn't help but have his reservations. This was Macaque you were talking about! Shady, shifty, super edgy bad guy Macaque!

- He didn't want you to feel like he was being controlling in any way or that he was trying to limit who you could be friends with. You could befriend anyone you'd like, and he knew at the end of the day it wasn't his place to interrupt. But Macaque?

- You could give him a little bit of grace, to be fair. Macaque was his biggest enemy, the largest thorn in the Sage's side and the one who had done some of the biggest damage to not only him, but to MK and some of the others as well. Seeing you, his beloved, so willingly hang around someone like that... it admittedly stung quite a bit

- You had to have a few conversations with Wukong, telling him about how Macaque was there for you and supported you. Which, admittedly, Wukong was bitter about at first. It wasn't his fault he got possessed, he'd think to himself

- It took quite a bit, but he eventually softened. Macaque wasn't perfect, not by miles in Wukong's eyes, but he supposed the warrior was getting better in his own ways. And he was glad that you'd had someone in those times, especially since he couldn't imagine how it must've been seeing your mate possessed by a wicked bone demoness

- So Wukong worked on his glares, held back his comments, and overall did his best to keep amicable and cordial whenever Macaque hung out with you two. He didn't personally make many strides to Macaque, he moreso just tolerated the guy for your sake. The feeling was pretty mutual on Macaque's end

- Though the monkies often subtly threw shade on one another or avoided each other completely, they did their best not to fight near you... of course that didn't end up holding well with their petty arguments, but at least they tried-

- Wukong does give Macaque a warning or two about not doing any of his shady dealings or sly tricks on you, giving a colorful reminder that he was known as a scourge to heaven for a reason. Even when keeping things peaceful for your sake, he knew he'd never forgive Macaque if the warrior dared to betray your trust

- Wukong would usually deny this if asked, but if you pressed on the matter he'd eventually cave. He tried his best to explain how he feels to you, but addressing the past was always hard for him, especially since Macaque was prone to being just as cryptic about it. Even if you couldn't get the full scoop, you knew Wukong was just doing his best to try to protect you, and he made constant efforts to try and control his reactions to having Macaque around

[gay-jesus-probably]

Let me just preface this by saying everyone is allowed to have their own opinions, TOTK is a really fun game, and I'm glad that other people have been able to enjoy the story as well.

...But I'm being dead serious with my complaints about the narrative being 100% imperialist propaganda. And I'm getting really tired of people replying to those posts by saying it can't be imperialist propaganda, because imperialism is bad and the game says that Hyrule is the good guys.

Like, guys. That's not the argument you think it is. Yes, I am aware that the game tells us Ganondorf is a flat, one dimensional character with no ambitions, interests or motivations beyond destroying the entire world for the hell of it, and also it's totally not racist because he's green, not brown like literally every other member of his race. Unfortunately literally all of these things are kind of the entire goddamn problem.

See, the thing is, everyone trying to make these arguments is accepting the game at face value. Hyrule is the perfect and almighty nation chosen by the demigod Zonai, and whose royal family has the right to rule due to their divine heritage. The other races exist to serve the glory of Hyrule, and they're happy to do it. Ganondorf is pure evil and must be stopped at any costs.

But that's not how anything works. The story informing me that Hyrule is the ultimate good that has done nothing wrong is the whole goddamn reason why I don't trust Hyrule at all. There's always more of a reason than that. And the game fucking suggests there was more going on! Ganondorf mentions Rauru has repeatedly 'invited' the Gerudo to become Rauru's subjects, and let's be clear here, it doesn't matter how peaceful those 'invitations' were, when the guy who owns every single magical nuclear missile in the world repeatedly demands you surrender to him, there's always going to be an implied threat of 'do it or get magically nuked'. Just that power difference alone shows us exactly why Ganon would feel threatened enough to invade. It's because Rauru was holding a gun to his head, and Ganon was expected to just trust that he'd never pull the trigger.

And yes, even if it wasn't intentional Hyrule was always threatening to wipe out the other nations, considering the entire royal family walked around openly wearing their magical nukes as cute accessories. If they couldn't be safely hidden away, there wouldn't be four other secret stones sitting untouched in a vault until the last second.

But that's never acknowledged. Of course Hyrule is the only nation with the right to the secret stones; even if other races get to touch them, they can only have them if they swear eternal blind loyalty and servitude to the glory of King Rauru and Princess Zelda. Ganon wanting to have one magical nuclear bomb out of a stockpile of eight of them is proof that he's dangerous and evil. I mean my god, what if he just walked around all day wearing a magical nuke and using its power for his own benefit, that would be terrifying. It's only okay when Hylian royalty does it.

And you can't argue that Ganon betrayed his own people, considering we don't get to know fucking anything about his relationship with his people. He's shows as the leader of the Gerudo, we're told he's a hero to his people, he has soldiers that loyally follow him into battle... and then oh nevermind, they all hate him and will spend eternity trying to atone for sharing a race with him. How did the entire race do a complete 180 in the span of at most a few months? Who cares, what's important is that now they accept they exist to serve Hyrule so they get to be the good guys now and we don't need to know why they were following Ganondorf, or why they stopped following him.

Basically my point is that yeah, I fucking know how the game insists everything went down. That's the entire reason I think it's imperialist propaganda, because the entire story feels like Hylian propaganda to conceal and justify some horrific atrocities that caused all of this. I literally do not believe that I'm getting the story through reliable narrators, especially considering that the only people allowed to actually tell me the story are all the characters that have the most reasons to be heavily biased in favour of Hyrule.

When the game shows me protagonists that have a massive amount of power and control over the entire world, then says the bad guy doesn't like that system just because he's evil, and literally nothing and nobody in the game says anything to oppose that take, I have some questions about what the fuck the story isn't telling me. And I'd really appreciate it if people would stop trying to argue with me just by telling me to stop asking those questions.

[la-petite-lapin]

Killer Queen | Part One

Killer Queen masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x 141!reader Word Count: 1.3k Chapter warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, 141, retired (not for long) soldier reader, reader's callsign is Tiger, enemies to lovers (but currently just enemies), referenced/hinted past trauma, swearing, no spoilers but this series will be darker than my other works

The air buzzed with a nervous kind of energy as you made your way to the meeting room. They were right to be anxious - the whole lot of them. Kate had pulled you out of early retirement for this, so it was bound to be something big.

You pulled the coat tighter around yourself like armour. Like the excess of black fabric would swallow you whole and you could slip about the base like a shadow, unnoticed. All the sideways glances were starting to set you on edge. As you rounded the last corner to the meeting room you'd been told to go to, a tingle shot up your spine.

How many people here knew about you? Your callsign? Your extensive kill record? You'd never operated out of this base in your years of service, but still - someone was bound to recognise you sooner or later.

Taking a deep, centring breath, you pushed the thought as far back into your mind as it would go and turned the handle on the plain, plywood door.

It was the standard fare as far as base meeting rooms went. Popcorn ceiling; scuffed linoleum floor; plywood table marked with rings from many generations of coffee cups; plastic folding chairs scattered at intervals. You made a beeline for the chair against the wall opposite the door, feeling safer in the knowledge that you could survey the room's only entrance from your chosen perch. It was far from the window too, but you still closed the shutters on your way past just in case.

Old habits die hard.

It took a couple more minutes for Laswell to arrive, offering you a pleasant smile and cursory nod on her way in. "Tiger," she said warmly, lips uttering the callsign you'd been running from for the past six months. From the blood-soaked history it held. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. I appreciate that this decision must not have come lightly for you."

Ever the diplomat, you thought, lips pursed.

"I've come to hear you out," you corrected, voice gentle yet firm. Kate was not a bad woman, and you couldn't fault her for reaching out. After all, she hadn't done anything to wrong you personally - which was more than could be said for others at her level of clearance. "Then I will decide if I want to stay or leave. You can at least ensure me that courtesy."

Kate nodded again.

Before long, three more bodied filed in. The eldest was introduced to you by Kate as Captain John Price - an old friend of hers. A man, who she greatly emphasised, could be trusted. A novel concept indeed.

He took great delight in introducing himself and then the two sergeants who accompanied him. The Scottish one - Johnny MacTavish - introduced himself by name first and foremost, tagging his callsign of Soap on at the end like an afterthought. It struck you then, looking into those baby blue eyes - so open and trusting, that he'd never had a reason to crave anonymity. Never been betrayed into knowing the preciousness of the information that he dished out so freely.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick was the last to approach you. He seemed like a solid, dependable man - one of few words but an innate warmth. Kind, dark eyes scanned your face, searching your features like you're a puzzle to be cracked.

You stayed seated throughout the entire exchange, pointed avoiding the hugs and handshakes being entertained by the others. Physical contact was a complete no-go.

"Not to sound rude," you said after a few minutes, watching as people start to take up chairs around the table, "but is this everyone?"

Captain Price lets out a gruff sigh. "Not quite. Just waiting on one man, though he's not normally late."

You nodded, settling back into your chair. A loud, curious part of you itched to find out why you were there. During all of your correspondence with Laswell, she'd neglected to mention any of the specifics. No matter how hard you'd tried to drag it out of her, she just kept telling you to wait for the meeting. To wait for...

The door creaked open one last time, revealing a figure you were all too familiar with. Bitterly.

Fucking Ghost.

You stood so abruptly that your chair dragged, making a horrible screeching sound as the legs dug into the already-scarred lino tiles. He stands there - all six feet and however many inches of black-clad, antagonistic muscle - head cocked to the side like he was bemused by the very sight of you.

"Absolutely fucking not!" you snarled, rounding the table to shove a finger into the centre of his broad chest. The captain and his sergeants faded into the background as you focused on him with laser-like intensity. "I told you that I would never work with you again. Not then. Not now. Not ever." Your attention switched to the woman you'd trusted enough to even be there in the first place. "And you! Are you out of your fucking mind, Laswell?"

There was a heavy beat of silence that weighed over the room, coating all six of you like a thick layer of silt.

Ghost folded his arms across his chest, shrugging off your finger. It did nothing to soothe your raging temper.

A cursory glance around the room painted an almost comical picture: MacTavish was slack-jawed and astounded, more likely than not at your fierce display of aggression to the feared, mighty Ghost; Garrick was still and watchful, hands steepled on the tabletop; and the Captain wore an expression somewhere between terror and bewilderment.

Laswell, on the other hand, was calm and stoic as she said, "Tiger, you know me. I would not have asked you to come here - from your retirement, nonetheless - if I didn't see a very real, very dire need to have you here with us." She swallowed, the column of her throat working as her gaze darted between you and Ghost's towering frame. He looked almost smug; like he'd been hoping this would happen one of these days. "But if you think that any effort to work together will result in another... display like this, then-"

"All due respect, ma'am," Ghost huffs, his unwavering gaze still boring into your soul, "don't give her the easy out. Little coward will probably up and leave the second you give her the chance to. I would know."

Anger rises in your chest, vision listing a dangerous shade of red as your chest squeezed. Gritting your teeth, hands clenched into fists at your sides, you refused to give him the satisfaction of shying away. No, you continued to square off against him, unflinching.

"Hey, Ghost," MacTavish interjected from the table, one hand scrubbing the shaven side of his head. "With respect, LT, 'ah don't think tha's a fair thing to say." He gave you a sheepish glance. "If tha's the Tiger, then I've heard a fair few things..."

You winced.

"You don't know her like I do, Johnny," Ghost grumbled, not skipping a beat. A vindictive light shone in those hollow eyes as he tacked on, "Trust me when I tell you: don't turn your back on this one. She's a sneaky fucking-"

A loud thump sounded through the meeting room as Captain Price bought his large, meaty fist down onto the tabletop. "Right, enough, both of you! Either listen to Laswell or get the fuck out. But, let it be known, if you leave this room there will be consequences - retired, in active duty, or otherwise."

Reluctantly, you held your head up high and retook your seat against the wall. A sick feeling of satisfaction spread through you a second later when Ghost realised that he had to take the last remaining chair - the one opposite you. The one that would force him to sit with his back to the door.

Grinning smugly, you leaned back and folded your arms across your chest. "Fine. Will someone finally tell me what's going on here? Why did you want me to come back to the force?"

Kate's eyes darkened in a way that you'd never seen before, and you sobered up in an instant. "We've received some credible intel that an old enemy of ours has resurfaced. We also have reason to believe that he intends to rebuild some operations that a lot of our finest men gave their blood to put an end to."

You choked on an inhale. It felt like the room was shrinking; like your skin was too tight over your bones.

No, no, no, no, no...

"There's evidence to suggest that Makarov is back."

a/n: hey folks, long time no see. I can't promise that this is going to be the start of regular uploading again, but I am making an effort to try. - much love, lapetitelapin 🧡

Taglist: @420-hun

[imagine-darksiders]

Ok, so please hear me out because I've been thinking about this in depth. Imagine Karn helping his human friend raise their baby. (Imagine him carrying the baby around in his scarf)

ooohoho h KARN LOVE IN THE YEAR 2024.

He;s like... the most imperfect perfect babysitter you could ask for. Doesn't see danger as well as others might, so your baby will end up going to places a baby should definitely not be going, i.e., lava-filled dungeons and demon-infested pits etc.

However, you have to trust that Karn is a fight-to-the-death kind of maker. Just because he wanted to show your little tyke a cool treasure at the bottom of an ancient well doesn't mean he won't protect your baby with every single fibre of his being.

He's as attached to the kid as he is to you. And he'd never betray your trust by letting something happen to his little brother/sister.

Out of the dungeons and in your regular, day-to-day life, Karn is still a proud - if scatter brained - protector. And a very proficient one too.

Are you tired from carrying the baby around on your shoulder all day? He'll use his scarf like a sling, bundling them up inside the warm fabric, all the while boasting about how his big, burly arms won't ever get tired. He might even try to flex for you at the same time, which earns him nothing but a gentle laugh.

Need to get so much done but you also need to watch the baby? Say no more, Karn can be an extra set of eyes for you. Just wait and see! Why, he'll take the baby out into the garden and watch them play safely under his protective-...

Where did they go?

So, the baby nearly crawled into a hole under his watch, it could have happened to anybody. The important thing is that Karn nearly tripped over his own feet lunging forwards to snag the back of their overalls and hoist them away from danger, so if anything, he's kind of a hero.

Your hero? Perhaps?

When you're trying to rock the baby to sleep but fighting off exhaustion yourself, Karn will happily set aside his evening to pick you and the baby up and balance the two of you on his broad chest, beaming proudly whilst you grumble at him, feeble in your resistance. This way, he can rock you both to sleep, and everyone gets some shut eye. It's a win win.

Wow, he's smart! You must be so grateful to have a friend as smart as him.

Of course, he feels a smidgen less smart when he allows a rogue demon to venture too close to your home. A stalker. Sniffing out the soft bodies hiding within.

He still regrets what he let himself become in that moment when he heard you scream from the garden and all but smashed his way through your living room wall, his eyes locking at once to the enormous, catlike beast trying to claw at you while you fended it off with a poker from the fire, keeping yourself valiantly planted between it and the baby cradled in your opposite arm.

Whatever ancient instinct he'd borrowed from his ancestors leapt to the fore in the blink of an eye. Protect the young.

Well he had. It was brutal. You've seen brutal, but you'd both privately hoped your baby never would. Karn was almost inconsolable after the stalker way pulverised into your living room carpet. A snarling, heaving brute who seemed nearly double in size for all his posturing and ferocity. The baby's crying kept him agitated, whipping his head back and forth whilst he crowded you both into a corner of the room and stood guard, his back bent low to accommodate his size under the ceiling.

It takes several minutes of gentle coaxing, cajoling and the softest voice you can muster to convince Karn back into himself. Even longer before he lets you leave the corner, and only when you make him hold the baby so you can focus on cleaning up what's left of your would-be assailant. You didn't realise why he seemed so reluctant to hold them at the time, he usually loves holding them. It was only later you realised he was terrified of losing himself in that space between incoherent rage and absolute fear again, and something... bad might happen to you or the kid...

[goth-mami-writer]

{•Feel Sick•} (pt.5)

•Leon Kennedy × f!Reader work

《⚠️TW: plot contains themes of age gap romance (reader is 18yo), obsessive behaviors, mild instances of stalking, coercion, emotional manipulation, and graphic smut. Read at your best discretion! ♡⚠️》

• Find previous parts here->

Part One |Part Two |Part Three |Part Four |

You spent the next several weeks glued to the desk chair in your room. Your knees stayed under your chin in a wadded ball of yourself that felt most comfortable after Leon's rejection. You were worried about bleeding after sex before this. But the sting of having the man who took your virginity distance himself after that sex was an ache just the same.

Leon stopped responding to your texts. It was a wonder he hadn't blocked you entirely from all the spam you'd sent in desperation to hear from him. Why had he flown off radar? It was a question that kept you up at night. He stopped liking your pictures on Instagram when you started flooding your account with baiting, intentional posts for some kind of attention. Each notification made you crazy to check for his name.

His silence was now making your living inconsolable.

You should've been preparing your entrance essay for college. It should have been at least thought of or maybe even drafted on your laptop for you to stare at while you procrastinate somehow but it just wasn't even in the foresight of your concern.

You wanted Leon. Anything from him.

Even his anger that might scream at you for even stupidly thinking that your little night on the boat meant anything more than a favor. Your parents did what they could to pry you out of your room in the days following but you felt like a ghost in your own space. Somehow visible but yet translucent and spiritless.

While your sadness was at its peak, there was also something else.

Urges.

After being shown what the height of real sex felt like, you wanted it all the time. Especially at night when you knew it was just you and your own thoughts conscious in the house. You spent hours with your hands inside your panties trying to recreate what Leon had given you but your trying fingers and even a quiet vibrator you'd bought at your lowest and most desperate wasn't good enough. You wanted touch. You needed Leon above you telling you how good it felt.

On that Saturday, Leon had just flown in on a morning flight, and the messages he found on his phone made his guts churn. He'd been out of the country and had basically gone wireless for the entirety of the small mission he'd been assigned on due to privacy.

You'd called him forty seven times, sent seventy one texts and six emails. He'd been gone for a week. One fucking week. This was insanity, he thought.

In the days leading up to his job, he might as well have gone wireless anyhow due to the guilt he thought would hospitalize him at the very least. He started drinking any dark liquor he could find like it was water. He used any alcohol at all really to try and mend himself free of worrying what he'd done to your self-esteem. But he'd have a liver shriveling with cirrhosis soon if he tried any harder.

It was time to stop being a fucking mope, he thought.

He thought of calling you. But he couldn't trust himself to pussy out of getting it off his chest that the sex was a mistake. A bad one. And it should've never happened. He made time that weekend to drive to your house and confront you in person. Somewhat in private, of course. Something he knew he could get away with the very concept he'd betrayed in the first place which was the trust of your parents.

You were doom scrolling down a Tumblr blog when you heard a car pull into the driveway that afternoon. At first, you assumed it was one of your mom's friends coming to carpool for Pilates, something that was like church to her on Friday at 5, but something felt off. You tugged away your earbuds and looked out the window to see Leon's Lexus sitting in your circled off driveway.

You gasped all the way down from your gut with your other insides already questioning what this was about. Was he here to be some kind of hero and tell your parents that he royally fucked up? No way. Your dad wasn't even home and he knew that. Right? Besides, if your dad was home, he'd totally beat the dog shit out of Leon in a second if the truth came out.

There was no way he came over for that.

“Hey..” You heard Leon say in greeting to your mom after being ushered inside warmly when he came to the doorstep.

You walked out of your room carefully and stayed at the top of the stairs out of sight of the foyer where they both stood now to listen in.

“She..ugh..left her jacket on the boat the other weekend and I didn't find it till now. Ya mind if I run it upstairs?” He asked, clearly lying that returning your forgotten jacket was the only thing on his mind.

“Sure-” Your mother said with a heaviness in her tone as if she needed to be discreet with her next words and you heard her becoming lower in the voice as if to keep something censored from the upstairs where you might have been listening.

“...so she's been a little..uhm..a little quiet since we got home. Thought she'd perk up after being at the lake but I guess not. Maybe it's hormones?”

You rolled your entire head instead of just your eyes upon hearing your mom actually choke it up to teenage hormones. Not that you were really surprised but you heard Leon agree that he'd try to be a little cheerful in hopes of getting you out of the dumps.

When your mother called up the stairs to announce him, you were already hidden back in your office chair to pretend you hadn't been listening to both of them talk. Your mother informed him that she was leaving for Pilates' class any minute, but he was free to stay as long as he liked. Leon told her she was kind, but he was staying only for a few minutes.

Something told your intuition that it'd be a lot longer than a few.

You put your earbuds back in, but your music was paused to listen as he came up the stairs. His foot falls sounded heavy like he was reluctant to be here, and your heart sank further into your chest already ached by his absence. You slumped over your laptop but heard as the room grew uneasy by his shadow now darkening your doorway.

Your lip trembled waiting for him to speak, feeling like your entire world was hung now by a string in his hand and he called out softly from across the room,

“Hey, Sourpuss.”

You turned, seeing that jacket you had left behind clutched in his soft grip, and you thanked him. You both became quiet, and you felt that it was only half because of awkwardness. After waiting for your mom to exit the front door, you both took a small sigh of relief to be alone.

Without someone to hear now what desperately needed to be discussed.

“So ugh…is your mom always dressing like… drunk Britney Spears to go to this Pilates thing or..?” Leon asked jokingly as he tiptoed into your room...and around the point to begin this interaction carefully.

You wanted to scoff and tell him that your mom doesn't even spend ten damn minutes at that pilates studio before winding up in that dive bar across the street with all of her other wine-drunk, trophy wife accomplices but you stayed silent to make the room grow colder.

He sat on your bed with a shaking head but his energy changed as well as yours to feel that silent jab of your intentional silence and his eyes found you, a gesture you felt even before you dared peer in his direction. He laid your jacket there beside him, and then you watched as his hands met uneasily. His forearms lay across his knees from the uncomfortable atmosphere, and he started slowly,

“We…uhm. We need to talk about what happened the other weekend, okay? And..you can be honest with me. Just like I'm going to be honest with you, alright?”

You nodded, feeling your skin crawl with angst. This sense of gutting rejection began rearing its ugly head once again and it stared you straight down now. Your weight shifted in a silent panic and Leon spoke with a heaviness in his grave tone.

“What we did…on the boat that night…was wrong. And I feel…guilty for letting myself be inappropriate with you in that way. I- i think I had too many beers honestly-”

Your eyes then became flooded with tears to hear him describe the experience that changed your life as “wrong” and you began to sob into your sleeve with long, heavy chugs of air from your heart that had broken to hear how sincere he was being.

But it wasn't all despair. Your face reddened in what you knew to be anger, and your voice choked to begin speaking your own mind amid his rightful apology that was tearing you in half.

“You're so full of shit!” You sputtered through your quivering lips that began breaking Leon's own spirit to see,

“You can't blame it on beer- on being drunk! That's bullshit! You liked it and I know you did! You can't lie to me - I know you!”

“Baby-” Leon began but you weren't finished.

“I'm not a child! Don't talk to me like that!” You yelled, making Leon jump forward to take your face in his hands, kneeling down in front of your office chair on both of his knees to hold you.

“Listen to me-” He said while shushing you softly with kneading thumbs to dry your tears in that soul soothing way that could always steady whatever torment was upon you,

“Okay, look, I did like it. We did have fun. But I'm old enough to be your dad, y/n. I remember the day you were born, for fuck's sake! Do you see why I feel so fucking dirty about….this?!”

“But you're not my dad! And I'm not your daughter!” You shouted in response, standing from the chair so he'd stop coddling you like some kind of delicate snowflake that everyone must have thought that you were.

“Just say it. You're only feeling bad about this cause you know dad would be pissed if he knew. Well I don't belong to my fucking dad, I'm eighteen! I can make my own decisions!”

“Jesus-” Leon scoffed as both of you began to talk over each other in the discussion that was now heating into a shared argument,

“Don't try and turn this around! Yeah, if I had a daughter I'd be mad as hell if I found out she was screwing some guy twice her age, alright! And that's that!”

Together you both argued for minutes more, chest to chest to defend what you believed to be morally sound about a teenage girl finding attraction to a middle aged man.

And vice versa.

After a boiling point was reached between you, Leon fished into his pocket for his keys when he knew enough was enough. He never wanted anything like this to ever happen but it was his own damn fault and he knew it. He sighed once more before making his way down your stairs and said trying to be as apologetic as he could that things had turned out this way,

“Listen- if you need me for anything. Just call me, okay? You need to be getting your stuff together for college-”

“You're not my dad, remember?” You scoffed bitterly over your shoulder with fire in your gut to actually begin despising him this quick,

“So stop fucking acting like it.”

“Yeah and I'm not your little fucking boyfriend either so-” Leon said before closing his mouth to prevent anything else hateful from escaping as he finally freed the car keys from his pocket.

You heard something fall to the floor as he turned frustratedly to begin towards the front door after a conversation that went nowhere but down in a nosedive. Your eyes narrowed to see what might have fallen from your dresser or maybe peeled off your bedroom wall. But then, as you got closer, your eyes widened in realization.

There was a condom lying on your bedroom floor. The exact brand Leon had used that night.

Which meant- he-

Wait.

“So if…you came here to set the record straight, why'd you bring a condom?!” You shouted from where you stood in your room still, making Leon freeze. His hand patted down to his front pocket where that goddamn rubber must have dropped from when he took out his car keys.

Fuck, he thought suddenly while he thought of something- anything to say to try and make this…not what it was.

“I- geez-. Yanno, men do carry condoms on them just in case?”

“Just in case-….” You started with your face slowly perking up into a daring smirk that knew like hell couldn't try and lie about something so obvious as he returned to your doorway whilst you picked him apart.

“Just in case…you accidentally..found someone to screw on the way over here? Yeah…you're so full of shit.”

Leon sighed with a long drag of nervous air now that you were starting to discover his own truth. About how much he really, really liked being with you. Even with so much in his ear about how wrong and dirty it was to be with an eighteen year old girl. A virgin..eighteen year old girl..that made him cum harder than any woman had in years of casual, mindless sex in bars or worse.

“I knew…This was gonna go…one of two ways, alright? Either…I was gonna go all noble and do the right fuckin’ thing.”

Your eyes met and something began once again. Rearing its ugly, horned face just like the night on the boat and your knees trembled to know that he had to have been feeling it the same as you. His eyes moved down to your lips for only an instance as he finally let himself think about kissing you again and your breath quickened as he finished,

“Or…I was gonna cave….hard.”

[veilkeeper]

breaking the cycle

alt title: why a sunshine boy beat solas at his own game

i need need need to talk about corentin and solas. like, the rook/solas dynamic is insane, right? it's insane. you meet him knowing he's the dread wolf. despite his protests, he is a god. you know him to be deceitful, cunning, and willing to betray allies and friends alike. if you uncover his memories, you learn that he has always been like that. there is no one he will not stab in the back.

despite that, you can respect him. more astounding, you can earn his respect. you're mirrors of each other, diametrically opposed but united in a common enemy, and you are literally following in his footsteps to stop the gods. you're in his base, uniting armies and earning the loyalty of your companions with his advice. whether you're willing to admit it or not, you are carrying his mantle, at least insofar as he was the leader of a rebellion that opposed gods.

remember, whatever it takes was his refrain first.

for corentin specifically, he never trusted solas. but aside from being morally opposed to his plans, corentin didn't really have... ill intent? all he knew was that while solas had to be stopped, he and varric had once been friends. so when he meets solas, he resolves to never trust him, but maybe to listen. he's done all this before, after all, and corentin isn't going to turn down expert advice when he's this in over his head.

and he does come to like solas. genuinely. he's the most frustrating person in the world, he hates when solas gets a little condescending but the scraps of approval are like a straight injection of endorphins (not unlike how he feels around emmrich, sometimes). the greatest sin anyone can commit around corentin is to be boring, and solas is anything but. he wants to impress him. he wants to believe that even after everything, solas can change. maybe seeing corentin succeed where he hadn't will help him realize that he'd been wrong.

then he betrays corentin. sends him to a prison of regrets for weeks. trapped in a circling, desolate place that was made to hold gods. worse, corentin finds out that not only had solas killed varric, but that he'd intentionally manipulated his mind to prevent him from realizing it.

but even after all that, when corentin finally confronts solas in minrathous, he thinks maybe there's a chance. solas needs him! he can't do this by himself! he seems genuinely impressed that corentin was able to escape, and it feels like he's telling the truth when he says he regrets manipulating corentin's mind and killing varric. and corentin is... well, he wants to see the best in people. he wants to believe people can change. he wants solas to do better.

and solas lies to him. again. the veil is going to come down with the death of elgar'nan—corentin's success was always going to be his failure. from the very beginning, he had been a pawn of the dread wolf, just like elgar'nan said. at every turn, it had been manipulation and doublespeak. were solas' feelings towards corentin, the respect and the regret and the borderline fondness real? maybe.

did it matter? not anymore.

because even though everyone is telling him to try, to give solas another chance, he can't. he already has. and across all of history, thousands upon thousands of years, other people solas cared about and respected gave him chances, and he turned them down every time. and the thing about corentin, the thing that brought him this far and let him kill gods where solas could only imprison them, is that he knows when to move forward instead of stagnating.

so when the time comes, the most genuine person in the world hands a fake dagger to a god, and he offers solas a final regret to carry with him across the veil.

[draculasfavoritewife]

Touch Me Please

Summary: Aftereffects can be painful to work through by yourself, and a little help from your partner can be a godsend.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Unwanted touch from a gross man, initial lack of communication, suggestions of a panic attack. Extended sequence of getting handsy in the shower. Possessive! Din.

I will never tire of writing shower scenes ❤️‍🔥. I love the thought of Mando's partner sometimes going undercover to flush out particularly oily bounties. And I really don't know what came over me for this one's ending...I have to blame my senselessness on the utter chokehold this man has on me hehe.

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

"I had it handled."

Din gives no response to your annoyed statement, simply lowers himself on one knee to yank his vibroblade from deep in the throat of the male Twi'lek on the floor, whose body has just barely ceased twitching.

You angrily stalk towards him, wrenching your chain along in one hand, your own knife still humming loudly in the other. "Don't you tune me out, Mando," you warn, using his professional alias as much out of displeasure as necessity. "I. Had it. Handled. But no, you just HAD to have things done your way. And now he's dead and we have to make a run for it."

"Warm or cold, makes no difference," he says gruffly, still not looking at you. He's a little too focused on the prone body of the asset, and you briefly wonder what's bothering him.

He doesn't usually act so impulsively when you're undercover.

With an exasperated snort, you shake your head and turn your attention to your modified slave collar, pressing the hidden release so it falls away, leaving you unchained once more. "This was a waste."

"We got what we came for." He rises and hefts the dead man across his wide shoulders with breathtaking ease, indicating the doorway with a sharp jerk of his head. "Let's get out of here before too many of his lackeys come looking for him."

You sheathe your knife and pull his pulse rifle from its holster on his back. He doesn't object.

He can tell you might need to disintegrate a few lowlifes before it's safe to hold a conversation with you again.

Your escape goes smoothly, more so than the actual mission, ironically, and soon the two of you are standing in the ship's hold, watching the carbonite seal over your latest asset. Din is acutely aware of how close you are to him, all his senses on high alert as his religiously conditioned mind struggles to process how you can just STAND THERE so exposed. Your slave dancer disguise is perfect, as far as it can be called a disguise.

As much as the pair of you shares under cover of darkness, he's never really seen so much of your skin before, bared between little more than straps of leather and the drape of filmy netting. He has to remind himself repeatedly that you consider yourself dar'manda.

He wonders too, if you'd done jobs like this before your partnership. Not once did he see anything in your stride that betrayed your discomfort. Images flash through his head unbidden, of the way you moved before your new "master", of how you remained still and silent even as that crime lord TOUCHED you....

Din Djarin is a controlled man. So his admittedly violent and perhaps unnecessary reaction to seeing that filth's hands straying -- too close to areas of you that belong only to him -- has him slightly shaken, though he'd never say so.

Does he regret having buried his blade in that scum's neck for his sins, for trying to take what's his?

No.

He doesn't.

He finally emerges from his brooding at the sound of your voice beside him. "I'm not angry at you, Din." Everything from this mission has finally caught up with you, drowning the adrenaline in exhaustion. "I just wish you trusted me more. I know I don't look dangerous like this --" you gesture down your mostly unclad form, not seeing the Mandalorian's gaze subtly follow, "-- but I can take care of myself. I had to, for a long time. I was in control, not him."

"I know." His voice comes out cold; he's struggling to keep himself from unloading all his confusion and dismay on you at once. "I do trust you, Cyar'ika. I just...."

You wait, but it's like waiting for a stone wall to open up for you.

Nothing gives.

Normally you would gently cajole that stone wall into eventually breaking down, but you just don't have the capacity to do so at the moment.

"I'll be in the 'fresher if you need me," you sigh, turning away. "I need a shower and a change of clothes."

He says nothing, and you don't invite him along.

For the first time in a while, the silence that falls between you two is taut, barely stretched over spiking emotions that are too rampant to reach the air.

The feeling of hot water pounding into your skin clears your head as it always does, letting your patience recharge and your frustrations bleed away down the drain. Sense slowly begins to reclaim your thoughts, and you let your mind drift as you wash away the scent of smoke and spice, your fingertips trailing absently across your body as new questions rise of their own accord.

You can't understand why you feel disappointed.

The job went well. It doesn't matter in the wider scheme of things whether you were the one to acquire the asset or Din, not really. You both get paid the same.

Were you simply hoping for more of a reaction to your dancer outfit from your laconic partner?

Your hand slips in the water, brushes over your ribcage. It's one of your favorite places to find Din's hands lingering when the two of you are half-awake in bed, your skin sensitive enough there that the calluses on his fingertips still raise shivers from you every time.

But to your disgust, this time it isn't his hand you feel on your body, but the memory of a much different hand, one with overlong nails searching for something that isn't meant for it. A hand that's been dead for over an hour now, but the sensation is still there, and not only there, but trailing down your neck, slithering around your waist, loitering a moment too long atop your thigh, and you can't keep back the sound of horror that forces its way up your throat.

You feel disgusting and helpless with the mere idea of those hands crawling your body.

And all you know is you need it gone now.

Desperately.

So as the sensations continue to heighten unpleasantly, you do the only thing you can think of.

"...Din?"

His footsteps are swift, and he's in the 'fresher before you even need to call for him a second time. You can see his hulking dark form outlined through the frosted door panel.

"What's wrong?" He sounds concerned.

"I...." You pause and take a deep breath. "I need you, Din. Please."

He doesn't protest, doesn't question you. The lights go out and you hear the clack of the beskar as he strips and sets it aside. Scant moments later, he's under the water with you, solid and familiar and radiating heat, and you're suddenly so needy for his touch it's all you can do to keep from throwing yourself at him.

"What do you want from me?" he breathes, water dripping from his hair down to your face.

"You." Most times you're a playful flirt, but this time you have no room left for games. You just want him to remind you who you really belong to. There will be time for other things later. "I want to feel your hands on me, Din. I need to get the feeling of that miserable scum off of me. Touch me, please."

He pulls you into him, a tad more roughly than usual. "Where, Cyar'ika?"

You melt into the welcome haven of his chest, your hands immediately finding their way to some of the more distinctive scars that ridge his skin. "Anywhere you want, my Love."

He's ravenous in his compliance, all but devouring you with his touch, lips joining his hands as he focuses first on your throat and shoulders.

It's as if he's as desperate for the contact as you are, and suddenly his strange actions become clear to you, as his hands flawlessly overrun all of the places where the other man had been.

He took note of every single unwelcome caress, each one still burning in his mind's eye, each movement of foreign hands a wrong against you and him that cries out to be righted.

And so he follows that path diligently, his heated touch obliterating any claim that vermin tried to make on his sacred space, reconquering everything you offer him like the Mandalorians of old.

You're surrounded by him, blind in the dark and the steadily falling water, held flush against his body, your senses reduced to purely touch and hearing as he growls broken phrases in Mando'a into your skin.

"I've never seen you so territorial," you huff out in a laugh.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs against your lips, as his pause in their journey across the landscape of you.

"Why?" you ask the well-loved chamber of his mouth.

"For my actions. I let my jealousy rule me in the moment and I offended you." He lifts you in his arms, your back resting against the 'fresher wall and your arms wrapping around his neck. You settle into the new position with a happy hum, letting your hips kiss his and feeling his hands slide down the backs of your thighs in reply.

"But seeing that son of a Hutt with his hands all over you like that --" his forehead comes to rest against yours. "That did something to me I can't explain."

One of your hands finds its way into his hair as the other gently scratches across his muscular back, making him sigh.

"Thank you, Din."

You can FEEL the curious eyebrow raise.

"For caring so much. For coming to my rescue when I need you -- every time. Next time," you add, mischief creeping back into your tone, "we can reverse the roles, if you'd rather. I can think of a lot of people who'd pay an exorbitant amount for a dancing Mandalorian. Think of that -- you, dressed in that get-up, but with the helmet still on, of course -- that would intrigue any crime lord, all right."

"You sound like you've imagined that more times than you should have," he chides teasingly.

Your only response is a soft laugh, though you do press yourself more insistently against him and give his hair a suggestive tug.

"Hmm. Someone's still not satisfied." He lets you slide from his embrace back to the floor, and you whine with disappointment, though to your relief all echoes of unwanted hands have dissipated.

Now you're just left hungry for more of HIM.

"Hush, Mesh'la, I'm not refusing you." The extra grit in his lowered voice suggests he wants more as well. His thumb brushes across your lips, rough and sensual. "I just think it would be more...pleasant to finish this in my quarters, don't you? Cold water and romance don't always go so well together if the heat runs out."

You nip at his thumb and smirk. "Thinking as always, Djarin."

"About you, at any rate." He falls quiet abruptly as he pulls away, as if abashed that such a flippant admission actually left his lips.

You laugh and duck back under the water. "Go. Get your hair dry and whatever else you need so I don't see your face. I'll get out when I hear you leave."

He starts to open the door, then suddenly thinks twice and is upon you once again, his fingers digging into the softness of your hips and his lips grazing your collarbone.

"You're beautiful," he grates out in a rush. "And I can't stop thinking about you in that costume. I just thought you should know that."

You sigh into his firm hold, a sinful idea taking delightful shape in your mind.

"How about I dance for you then, Din Djarin? Would you like to see that, ner'alor?"

The breath leaves his lungs all at once in a sharp exhale. "Yes, Mesh'la. Dance for me."

When he finally goes, you're left to finish your shower with an overwhelming ache for him and some very tempting plans turning over in your head.

Dar'manda = Not Mandalorian; separated from one's heritage

Ner'alor = My leader/boss

[the-kr8tor]

Katy…. For the 1 year anniversary

Garlic cloves and 💧

Vampire hobie and some angst

Vampire hobie and a human where other vampires find out hes in love with a human (maybe they cause him to purposely goes mad, to where he will attack and be the cause for rs death. Possibly?)

Then when he snaps out of it, he realize what hes done. To the person he fell in love with (can totally see him trying to make R into a vampire while sobbing choking out apologies while trying to get them back) 😭

I dont know i thought youd like this possibly, you have full control over the ending or how anything goes or could go. Some of its just a small ideas to give your brain maybe to help give you ideas for how you want to go. But i know you love angst and you are amazing at it

First thing i requested for your Apothecary. Do whatever you want with this idea. Just knew itd give a lot of angst potential for our favorite punk

Hehehhehe vampire! Hobie angst 👀 thank you for requesting, bestie!!

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except her clothing), TW death, CW blood and gore, CW violence, vampire AU, Angst.

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

Blood coats his tongue like a thin film of gore and death. It sticks to his fangs, red dripping off his unhinged maw where his fellow immortals’ crimson flows out like your own blood spilling from the numerous bites marring your precious skin. Skin he used to hold and love, skin that is now littered with specks of rubies as if a constellation of stars has touched you in your dying breath.

He heaves in place, adrenaline coursing through his veins like the raging rapids. Sharp claws still red and dripping, rage filled eyes roaming around the violence he did not start but had to finish.

Hobie never thought that he'd be betrayed by his immortal kind that he has spent centuries with. Vampires they used to call friends, even family. He never thought that being called upon by a trusted friend would result in you lying in your own pool of blood in the same house he left you, in the same dress he last saw you in, in the same floors he danced on with you holding on to him as he glides you around the home he once built for you.

Home, it doesn't look like it now. The oak walls that you've painstakingly painted that resemble tree branches stretching across the abode like a warm embrace are now coated in every shade of red. Numerous portraits of your life with him now lay scattered by his feet, glass crunching under his footsteps like dry autumn leaves. The pretty candles that you always light on the same hour every night are nothing but wax melted upon the ashen skin of fellow vampires. His hands are coated in the same ashes, grey amidst dark red, dark red among his skin, skin that he thought he has washed away from a millennia of sin— skin that he thought was worthy of your sacred touch.

As he walks closer to your limp body, his eyes bore into the river of red left in your wake. His expression is akin to an empty, apocalyptic look— dangerous, yet, a tragedy lies underneath his wine red eyes. He's starting to hate his eyes now that you lay in a pool of the same colour. You used to tell him that his eyes were like the purest of crimson, similar to a stirling ruby no king or emperor could ever possess. With your words he vowed to keep you close to him until your skin has etched into his own, until his own ribs rip apart to embrace you and take you into his very being. Now that he gingerly holds you close to his chest, he should've done that to protect you better, now it's too late as you gasp, fending off death itself from taking your soul before you could say goodbye.

Your eyes no longer show the light he once admired, light akin to the sun that would burn and turn him into ash— but he could not stop looking at them, even if it could possibly be his demise, because it'll be worth it to feel the righteous sun kiss his skin once again.

“‘m sorry,” Hobie cried as his tears from his own blood dripped down across your cold cheeks. “I can still fix this.” With a shaky inhale, he feels mortal when your freezing hand taps his long dead heart. You don't speak nor blink at him. He wishes you could but with your life seeping out of you, it's impossible for you to do so. He feels it, how your life is being drained from the numerous bites along your body. He also wishes he doesn't feel you slip away. “Please, l–let me bring you back.”

With your last strength, you curl your lips to a soft, weak smile. Hand weakly gripping his shirt, mouth mouthing the words— “not your fault.”

Hobie chokes on a sob, shaking his head, he cannot, will not let you go. You're the only person who truly knows him, the only person who has seen the real him that he hasn't shown to anyone since he was turned. He loves you, and he'll continue to love you until his dying breath, whenever that may be. Ten years from now, twenty, a hundred— he'd love you until he steps out of the shadows and back into the light of the sun that reminds him of your eyes.

He feels your heart slow down, the blood rushing out of your veins are like drums in his ears. Opening his jaw, fangs in full show, you let out your very last mortal breath.

But he's too late, you have no blood left, drained until the last drop. No spark of life left to be brought back to earth with. Without a flicker of light, there's no embers to set fire to. Yet, he still tries in despair. Teeth sinking into you, a hungry bear to a corpse of a rabbit, he bites and sips into nothingness. Not even a glimmer, a hope lighting a fire in you brought by the kiss of death— nothing, absolutely nothing can bring you back to life. He cries, sobs wracking his body, a hurricane of emotions flooding through him that he has never felt in his immortal life until now.

Calling your name, he cradles your cold body, hand behind your head, lips upon your neck. He doesn't bite this time, he knows better. But if it does work, will you hate him for it?

The door creaks open, a familiar face he just saw a few hours ago enters the sheer violence Hobie left in his vengeance. His face contorts into sorrow but it quickly turns contorts to disappointment.

“You should've listened.” He utters, mouth dripping with venomous words. “Was she worth it? Breaking our law?”

Hobie slowly glances at the man without leaving your side. His once pure ruby eyes have turned into a flurry of bright red fury. “She was.” His claws dig into your lifeless body, lips shaking from sheer anger.

“I still cannot understand you.” He scoffs, “and you even tried to turn her. You're a fucking disgrace.”

Hobie slowly brings you back down, carefully laying you and closing your lifeless eyes. He looks at the man, someone he used to call a friend, someone he once trusted. Vampire blood and ash coats his very being, staining his soul, but they don't compare to your blood on his hands.

“Then I'll make you understand.” With a pounce, Hobie will drench his hands in more ichor until it's enough for him.

[cursedkeyboard]

Funnily enough, I've never been too big of a Jason Todd fan. Not because I don't like him, he's a great character, but because DC fails over and over again to give him justice and treat him right.

The number of times alone this boy has been beaten by his adoptive father, betrayed, and forgotten are far too many, far too much.

And the constant portrayal of Jason as this volatile, violent, mindless man is tiresome, lazy in all senses of the word and overdone. I understand that Jason was unstable after he left the pit, I mean, who wouldn't? The trauma of his death alone could've sent anyone crazy, but then to experience everything else afterwards, including having to come to terms that Bruce not only did not kill his murder but also replaced him, leaving Jason to grieve what was once his and what he should've gotten, of course he'd be less than okay.

Again, I'm not the biggest Jason Todd fan but I do wish more people would see just how much good Jason has in his heart, how kind and gentle he can be once his walls are down, when he's no longer constantly analyzing your actions and wondering why would you bother talking to him, getting closer to him.

In my opinion, a man who is so gentle with children, who constantly gives second, third, and fourth chances to people who don't deserve it, who despite it all still wants to make a change and protect the city that failed him, couldn't possibly be anything but the most caring partner. Not just partner, no, also brother and friend.

We all know what he did to Tim and Damian, there are reasons, such as his mental instability at the time and rage, and though those are not excuses, I believe Jason would still drop everything to go save his family. He might complain, he might brood, but family is something important to him even when just looking at them hurts him. He lost his loving mother, stepmother, far too early and it's not hard to imagine that even with all the pain and grief inside his torn heart, the little boy inside Jason still craves the warmth of a family.

Just look at the way he treats his friends, at the way he helps them through situations no one else would, how caring and attentive he is. Jason is gentle, sure, he is rough and mean and he's got blood on his hands, but Jason is made of love.

Jason was made to be loved.

So I think, whether platonic or romantically, Jason would treat you so well. He'd scold you for not wearing warm clothes during winter, "We're in Gotham, you fucking moron, you wanna freeze to death?", all while wrapping you with his jacket or scarf. He'd make sure you're eating at least something every day, and if not, he would immediately put you under his arm, maybe over his shoulder, and take you to the nearest food chain he could find, "I don't want to hear you complaining about headaches when all you had today was a cup of coffee and gum.".

Lord, he'd be torn between freaking out and being extremely annoyed that you got hurt, be it at work, a fight, or just out of clumsiness. But no matter what, his hands would always be so, so gentle when touching you. The tip of his fingers brushing under the injury, as light as a breeze, his other hand holding the back of your neck, or your bicep, perhaps even your hand just to make sure you're there, with him.

Jason would both hush you gently, "I know, sweetheart, we're almost done.", and also tease because he's a little shit at heart, "If you had a little more awareness than a ten year old this wouldn't have happened, idiot."

And physical touches? Oh, love, Jason is a sucker for intimacy.

I know for a fact he wouldn't be comfortable for a long time with anyone in his personal space due to the torture he went through. The trauma would make his skin crawl any time someone got too close or brushed past him, he'd hate it so much because it makes him weak but also because he can't let anyone try to hug him without feeling sick to his stomach.

And with you it's no different. It would take a long time, a lot of trust being built up, conflict and confessions, maybe he'd even open up to you with his head on your lap as you brushed his hair softly, a big, big step for him after years of not letting anyone close. He'd tell you about the Joker, about having hope in Bruce, about his biological mother. And he'd feel vulnerable like a child when you wipe his tears gently without a word.

Once he starts craving your touch, though, regardless if you two have a platonic or romantic relationship, Jason is putty in your hands. Forehead kisses when you part ways, cuddling on the couch while he reads and you're on your phone, thighs touching when sitting close, even a little bit of hand holding when he's stressed and needs to play with your fingers.

He's like a big cat that's constantly making his way onto your chest, stealing your breath and making biscuits on your skin, making sure you're giving him sufficient pats every day.

It's a little part of him that he's barely able to properly allow space for. There's still so much hurt in Jason, so much confusion and desperation, hatred and upset, that he'd probably still close off sometimes, try acting tough so you'd see how fucked up he is, how he's not truly worth of your love.

And yet.

And yet all it'd take for him to go soft and pliant in your hands would be a single touch, cupping his cheeks, brushing his skin softly with your thumbs, right under his pretty emerald eyes, making sure his gaze is on you and only you. Just like that, he'd slump his shoulders and bring you into his arms, breathing a sigh of relief and squeezing you close, your heartbeats synching.

He wouldn't remember when he started feeling safest in your arms but it'd feel like it was since forever. Like there was no one else but you.

Jason was made to be loved, though he is a little broken and a little tainted, lost like a child and hateful like a sinner, your love might just be his salvation, something he's greedy for, selfish for, even when he's so hesitant of somehow hurting you.

[elswing]

in defense of elrond

it is ironic that elrond keeps accusing galadriel of being too blinded by pride while he's fallen equally victim to being blinded by his own frustrations. neither of them are being particularly rational about the situation because they're both hurt and feeling betrayed, and i think elrond's remark about how galadriel only sacrificed herself to save the ring instead of the company perfectly encapsulates that—because, yeah, that is a fair interpretation of it, but she did just tell him five seconds ago that she was only there to protect them, a fact that exists simultaneously with her possessiveness over nenya.

it isn't One Or The Other, just like both of their opinions on the rings, because in actuality they are both right about them. elrond has a limited perspective on it, but from his pov he is completely justified in hating the three feanorian crafted shiny magic jewels that everyone around them covets (🤨). all he knows is that sauron had a hand in making them and no one can possibly know how much influence he has over them because the true art of his craft is subtle. as in, you don't know it's happening to you until you're suddenly slapped with the consequences of it. it is equally fair of him to be suspicious of galadriel herself, because it is impossible to rely on whether she now believes herself to be free of his corruption when she never knew it was there to begin with. also, again, for emphasis—she knew sauron walked among them, she knew he'd helped make the rings, and she let it happen anyway. that doesn't exactly inspire trust, especially when it's the exact antithesis of the point she's trying to prove to elrond and she hasn't done anything to try and rectify that breach of friendship except offer an apology that does sound quite empty given she is still championing the rings.

on the other hand, galadriel is the one who spent time with sauron all this time. galadriel is the one who befriended him, and while even we as the viewers can't be sure which parts of halbrand were an act and which were genuine moments of connection, the main point is still clear: whether she wants it or not, they understand each other. even without their friendship, you can't spend thousands of years dedicating your life to hunting someone down without them becoming familiar to you in some way, and i think there is a specific manner of vulnerability that loss and grief gave her and it just tore her wide open for all sorts of habits and traits to take root. she became so devoted to her vengeance against sauron that the lines between identity and purpose began to blur.

i am not of the opinion that galadriel loves sauron (or vice versa, but that's a whole other post), as fascinating as their dynamic is to me. i do think that she is a passionate individual who was made for love and boldness, and losing everything she did was never going to mellow her out or slow her down. in her, vulnerability takes the form of rage, and it is there, in that twisted, not-quite-galadriel version of herself, that sauron was able to find a reflection.

there is no way elrond can possibly understand any of that, even despite suffering similar losses, because that's just not who he is. galadriel has the better intuition on sauron's manipulations, and she has a far better understanding of the depth of them, so of course her opinion should count here.

the issue is that they're both too raw and hurt that neither of them are willing to say "okay, so we BOTH have good points here. let's hear each other out instead of waiting for one of us to see reason and blindly agree with everything the other is saying"

i think it should also be noted that galadriel does end up being right about the rings' capabilities as a force for good, especially since the One to control them hasn't been forged yet. as unlikely as it might seem to elrond, her intuition isn't leading her astray here. we just haven't reached that point in the story yet (nor have we reached the point where galadriel begins to humble herself to the elves and seeks to redeem herself like morfydd mentioned, but i have a feeling they're getting into that now. after all, she did give nenya up to the guy who hurtled face-first off a cliff hoping to destroy them, so that's gotta count for something. baby steps!)

[varteeny1234]

birch boys angst time :D

Summary:

Golden's breakdown, but Milkman finds him before he fully shatters.

Words: 1770

Chapters: 1/1

Warnings: Mild body horror ish, panic attacks, trust issues, near death experiences

Ship: None technically but it's ambiguous

I wrote this specifically to make @purpleprinceblood explode :>

Fool walked back and forth across the main room inside Big Bircha. He'd been pacing like this for what could have been only a few minutes, or it might have even been something closer to multiple hours. He didn't know.

His jaw hurt from being clenched so tightly, and he'd been digging his nails into his skin, trying to ground himself. It was working a little bit. He couldn't stop thinking about Milkman, what had happened, how he'd been interrogated, thought to have betrayed his own partner. Fool had been offended at first, that Milkman could have ever believed he would impersonate him and destroy one of his projects like that. 

Didn't they know each other by now? Didn't they trust each other by now?!

So why, why, then, had Milkman not shown that, hadn't had faith in Fool? 

Now, the feeling was more sadness. He was heartbroken that he wasn't trustworthy in Milkman's eyes. He wondered what he could have done to him to make him think so, anything to explain the sudden coldness from him, the distance between them both. Even after that damned clone had been found out, and Fool had eliminated it, Milkman had been so quick to brush everything under the rug like it had never happened. 

Like he'd never made Fool think that he didn't trust him. 

It hurt a lot- remembering that Milkman didn't believe Fool when he'd said he would never try to sabotage him, and it hurt even more to realize that Milkman acting like he trusted him again so easily after the fact could be evidence towards Milkman had never trusted him, and Fool was a fool to pretend he ever did.

Fool tried to stomp his foot mid-step, but tripped, turning it into more of a sad falling over. Bringing himself back up to his feet felt like too much work for right now. He curled up into a ball there, letting out a cry, in the middle of the floor, suddenly all too aware he was completely alone. 

A thought struck him, all of a sudden. 

Before Milkman had gone and ruined his trust, he'd trusted him too, more than anything. But now that he couldn't rely on him anymore, he himself was the only one he could rely on to pick himself up and dust himself off when he fell. Fool was alone. He wanted to be able to trust his friends, but how could he, if they played with that trust so willingly?

He just wanted his friends. Milkman especially, but all of them were important to him- even Avid, he silently admitted. He wanted them to be his friends that he could trust, that he could rely on just how they could always, always rely on him. 

Why couldn't the universe let him have that? 

Why did it have to be so cruel to him?

Fool realized he was crying when he opened his eyes and the world was still blurry. There was a warm wetness on his face. He closed his eyes again, the sights of the room too much to handle anymore. He pulled at his hair, feeling it hurt, trying to distract himself from the continuous loop of you can't trust anyone no one trusts you you can't have them they don't want you they don't need you you're alone you can't have them-

He felt like he was going to tear apart into a thousand pieces, his soul hurt so much, it felt too heavy, like it was going to shatter. Fool decided he didn't like feeling like he was going to collapse in on himself. 

That was, really, the only way he could really describe it. It was a nightmare, everywhere he had his soul leaking out, cracked, exposed was just feeling... twice as much as it normally did. His face hurt. 

He cried out again, yelling for something, someone to come help him. He wanted someone he could trust. There was no one left, but it was really the one thing he needed, why couldn't Atium have mercy on him, why, why-!

"Fool?" 

The spiral stopped, for just a second. Fool's heartbeat was pulsing loud in his eardrums, it was all he could hear once his thoughts halted. 

What was he doing here, he should be out doing... whatever it was he normally did, not come bother the guy he betrayed, who was currently dying in the middle of the floor-

"Fool, where are you? I gotta talk to you!" 

Milkman's voice grew louder as he, presumably, climbed up the ladder. Fool couldn't see him, and didn't particularly feel like seeing anything, but he made a noise of upset at Milkman's appearance. 

"Mmhng," he groaned. He covered his ears with his hands. 

Footsteps came, and he heard them come closer and closer to him until surely they were right next to him, his partner was standing right above him, seeing him in this state... 

He reached a hand out towards the voice, letting it fall onto the ground.

"Fool, oh my god, what happened? I- oh, oh no, I... uh, I wanted to talk to you, actually, but it can wait. Do- do you need anything?

His soul was still too much right now, but it wasn't getting worse. 

"Fool, you're- you're glowing, and you're all cracked! Uh- crap, I don't know what to do, what do people do in this situation?!" Milkman sounded like he was panicking. Honestly, that was fair on his part. 

...Wait, did he say Fool was cracked? And glowing?

That would explain why his soul hurt so much. He had his eyes closed, but... oh, whatever. Maybe it would be better if he just died like he felt like he was going to, stopped making Milkman panic for some reason even though he didn't trust Fool and Fool couldn't trust him so why was he still here and why did he sound like he cared about him-

"Oh, Fool, I just wanted to say I was sorry for the whole... not believing you thing. I- like, a real apology this time, not like what I said before. I really am sorry about it, god, I should never have gone against my gut and accused you like that. You didn't deserve that. I trust you... but my god, what's happening to you? I... I'm- can I touch you? Will- is that okay?"

Hearing Milkman's apology gave him a weird feeling, especially the part where he said he trusted him. Fool wanted to believe it, believe him, so bad. 

He tried for a response. "Not... soul spots," he groaned weakly. "Hurts." 

"Mhm. I...  yeah, I'm just going to say it, it looks like it hurts. A lot." 

Then, a light pressure on the back of his hand- where it was only regular skin, no gold. It felt nice. It felt a little safer. 

Somehow, the weight of his soul seemed to be going away...?

Or at the very least, it was a little less than it had been before. 

It didn't make sense. None of this made any sense. Milkman was here, telling Fool he was sorry, and that he trusted him. Fool couldn't trust any of the people he thought were his friends, even though he desperately, desperately wanted to. He wanted to trust Milkman, trust he'd be here for him, trust that he wouldn't betray him again...

The gentle touch on his hand kept him in the present. He was glad Milkman was here.

"Are you, like... how do I phrase this. Can you talk, or no? I just- you look like crap, I'm just going to say it. You look like someone tried to explode you and then put you back together. And I mean literally, kinda? You are glowy and covered in weird cracks. In case you didn't know."

He did know, thank you very much. He didn't say it out loud, though. He tried to open his eyes, just to see for himself, and was met first with the face of a very worried-looking Milkman and second with a bright golden glow coming from yeah, his skin. His skin was glowing from weird cracks, alright. He closed his eyes again.

He could definitely trust Milkman on some small things like that, heh. 

He was also definitely crying again. 

"C'n talk, kinda," he mumbled. "I want to trust you... don't feel like I can."

Milkman audibly inhaled, then started to apologize again. "I don't know how else to tell you or show you how sorry I am other than repeat myself. I really am sorry. For everything. So much. You know me, you know how rare an apology from me is, let alone me really being sorry, but for the love of birch wood itself, I am the sorriest I've ever been in my damn life."

Somehow, Fool felt like he could believe him. 

"Hey, you want to know something, Fool?" 

"Mm?" He made a noise of recognition. His soul's pain was becoming almost bearable. He opened his good eye, blinking slowly. The glowing was much less intense, and Milkman was smiling a genuine, loving smile. 

"You say you don't feel like you can trust me, and I don't blame you for that. I don't think I'd fully trust me either, but... you told me how you feel, so I think you trust me mors than you think you do," he said. Fool took a moment to process his words. He supposed, in a way, if there wasn't some level of trust then he wouldn't feel comfortable with him here at all. He did want Milkman here, and to be his friend! 

And Milkman would have left by now if he didn't also want to be here!

...Oh, he was crying more now.

And...  glowing even dimmer. It was going away, really going away, now that he wasn't feeling as awful anymore. Those awful-looking cracks in his skin were starting to mend themselves. 

Milkman held Fool's hand tighter, covering his fingers, still being careful to avoid the sensitive gold. Fool felt a burst of affection in his chest at the subtle gesture. 

He tried a smile, and Milkman's eyes grew just a little bit happier. 

Maybe it would be okay, Maybe he could learn to trust his friends again after all? 

He wasn't in agony anymore. His soul wasn't feeling the intense weight from before, and he didn't feel like he was going to collapse in on himself and break apart. 

Milkman was here. His partner was here. He could learn to trust him properly, again, in time.

Everything would be okay.

[lovequinn]

DO YOU REMEMBER WHEN YOU FINALLY TOLD ME YOU WERE SUPERGIRL YOU WERE WEEPING BIG CROCODILE TEARS WELL I WEPT REAL TEARS BITTER TEARS OVER YOU WEEKS BEFORE WHAT I THOUGHT HOW LONG HAD YOU KNOWN I FOUND OUT THE DAY I KILLED MY BROTHER LENA YOU DIDN'T KILL LEX THAT WAS ME I WATCHED HIM I SAW HIM FALL YOU SAM HIM FALL BUT DID YOU SEE HIM LAND DID YOU SEE HIM DIE I DID AND LET ME TELL YOU IT WASN'T PRETTY THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE ANYTHING'S POSSIBLE WHEN YOU'RE A LUTHOR LEX USED HIS TRANSMATTER PORTAL WATCH I KNEW EXACTLY WHERE HE'D GO THE CABIN WE LOVED WHEN WE WERE CHILDREN SO I WAS THERE WAITING FOR HIM HAD THE GUN READY LOADED I COULD FEEL THE WEIGHT OF IT IN MY HANDS EVERY FIBER OF MY BEING REBELLED I DIDN'T WANT TO DO IT BUT I KNEW I HAD TO BECAUSE IF LEX LIVED THE WORLD WOULDN'T BE SAFE MY FRIENDS WOULDN'T BE SAFE SO I FORCED MYSELF TO PULL THE TRIGGER I SHOT MY OWN BROTHER IN THE CHEST HIS FINAL WORDS TO ME WERE THAT I WAS A FOOL AND THAT MY BEST FRIEND EVERY FRIEND I HAD WAS LYING TO ME WITH HIS DYING BREATH HE TOLD ME YOU WERE SUPERGIRL LENA YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME I NEVER MEANT TO HUMILIATE YOU NO WHEN I CAME TO THIS CITY I PROMISED MYSELF THAT I WOULD NEVER TRUST ANYONE EVER AGAIN AND THEN

I

‎‎‎　　MET

　　　　　　YOU

AND YOU CHIPPED AWAY AT MY ARMOR WITH YOUR WARMTH AND YOUR EARNESTNESS AND YOU CONVINCED ME TO TRUST IN PEOPLE IN FRIENDSHIP AGAIN AND AGAINST MY BETTER JUDGEMENT I DID ALL THE WHILE TELLING YOU ABOUT MY ACHILLES HEEL BETRAYAL I CONFIDED IN YOU THAT EVERYONE IN MY PAST HAD BETRAYED ME ABOUT HOW MUCH IT HURT TO HAVE SOMEONE YOU LOVE LIE TO YOU AND BETRAY YOU I SPELLED IT OUT FOR YOU OVER AND OVER ESSENTIALLY BEGGING YOU NOT TO VIOLATE MY TRUST BEGGING YOU NOT TO PROVE ONCE AGAIN THAT I WAS FOOL YOU REASSURED ME AD NAUSEAM THAT YOU WOULD NEVER LIE TO ME THAT YOU'D NEVER HURT ME AND ALL THE WHILE THERE WASN'T A SINGLE HONEST MOMENT IN OUR FRIENDSHIP NO THAT'S NOT TRUE NO I KILLED MY BROTHER FOR YOU FOR OUR FRIENDS DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU'VE DONE WHEN YOU FOUND OUT WHY DIDN'T YOU COME TO ME RIGHT AWAY SO I COULD EXPLAIN EXPLAIN YEAH IF YOU HATE ME SO MUCH WHY NOT OUT ME AT THE PULITZER PARTY WHY PRETEND TO STILL BE MY FRIEND THIS LONG BECAUSE I WANTED YOU TO EXPERIENCE WHAT YOU DID TO ME FEEL WHAT I FELT I UNDERSTAND YOUR PAIN AND YOUR FURY AND YOU'RE RIGHT I MADE A BIG MISTAKE MAYBE THE BIGGEST MISTAKE OF MY LIFE BUT PLEASE LENA PLEASE DON'T LEAVE THE FORTRESS WITH MYRIAD PLEASE DON'T LET MY MISTAKE PUSH YOU TO DO SOMETHING TERRIBLE YOU ARE A GOOD PERSON NO NO YOU DON'T EVER GET TO TELL ME WHO OR WHAT I AM AGAIN DID YOU REPROGRAM THE FORTRESS'S DEFENSES TO ATTACK ME YES AND I RIGGED IT TO ANSWER TO THIS LITTLE BUTTON I HAVE IN MY HAND ARE YOU GOING TO TRY TO KILL ME NO SUPERGIRL I'M NOT GOING TO KILL YOU I'M NOT A VILLAIN YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE TREATED ME LIKE ONE!!!!!!!!!!