#accountability hurts and regret is heavy

[sincerelyyycece]

i'm letting go.

Y/N finally had enough of being James’s backburner

note: modern au, this is a part 2 of my “hey, are u still there? …good.” fic, inspired by niki’s song again but this time it’s “oceans and engines.”

tags: @dearmy-diary @moonteaxw @xcinnamonmalfoyx @box-of-kinderjoy @hisparentsgallerryy @alittlebirdswhisper @chi-ara (i can't seem to tag the last two accounts.)

sincerelyyycece © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

A symphony of heartbroken tears and quiet, mournful sniffles echoed throughout the room, rebounding off the cold, stark walls and filling the silence with their melancholy. "Here we go again," she mused to herself, a bitter chuckle escaping her lips as the painful reality of her situation hit her once more. Her gaze, heavy with unshed tears and the burden of heartbreak, fixed on the seemingly innocent photo of James and Lily, both ignorant of the emotional turmoil their image was causing.

As she studied their smiling faces, her heart, already fragile and wounded, sank even deeper into the abyss of disappointment. The realization that she had been cruelly sidelined for Lily once more was a blow she had not anticipated, a betrayal that echoed in the silent room. She could almost hear the sound of her heart shattering, each piece a testament to her unrequited love for James.

A nauseating wave of regret and self-reproach washed over her, threatening to drown her in its relentless current. As she pondered her own naivety, she wondered how she had allowed herself to fall into this trap.

What had she expected?

Did she truly believe that this time, against all odds, he would choose her?

How foolish she felt, how incredibly naïve she was for ever believing him!

Her eyes narrowed at James's enthusiastic grin, a stark reminder of the shared moments and whispered promises. She remembered how he had once smiled at her in the exact same way, his eyes twinkling with mischief and unspoken promises. How easily she had fallen for that smile, and how bitterly she regretted it now.

With a deep, shaky breath, she forced herself to look away from the picture, her hand moving to wipe away the stray tears that had begun to fall. She knew what she needed to do, as much as it hurt her. She had to let go. She had to let go of James, of her love for him, and of the hope she'd been foolishly clinging to.

She gazed at her phone, James's number illuminating the screen. Another shaky breath escaped her lips as she summoned the courage to press the call button. The room filled with the familiar sound of ringing as she anxiously awaited his response, her hands trembling with nerves. Thoughts raced through her mind as she contemplated the words she intended to speak to him.

Suddenly, a voice broke the silence, uttering a soft "Hello?" Her breath caught at the sound, her heart skipping a beat. Faint music played in the background as he called out her name, "Y/N." She swiftly composed herself, resisting the urge to melt at the sound of his voice. "Are you there, Angel?" he inquired, his tone gentle. Her throat felt parched as she struggled to form words, her mind urging her to speak, yet her voice failed her.

Frustration washed over her as she sensed the distant sounds of music and chatter, indicating his movement to another location. "Y/N, did you accidentally call me?" he teased, chuckling lightly. "Hey," she finally managed to utter. "Hey Angel, what's going on?" he responded, his voice tender. She blinks rapidly, searching for a way to conclude the conversation.

But then a familiar female voice interrupted from the other end, urging James to return inside for another round. Though faint, she recognized it immediately. James's affectionate response indicated his reluctance to end their conversation. Internally, she sighed, realizing it was time to let go. No more clinging to hope, no more waiting on the sidelines for him. It was time to move on.

She'd had enough; her heart was tired of playing second fiddle to Lily. She was tired of being the one he turned to when he was bored or lonely—the one who was there to fill his empty moments. "James," she started hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper, "I think we should stop seeing each other." There was silence on the other end of the line, and for a moment, she thought he had hung up. "What?" he finally asked, sounding utterly shocked. "Why?”

"I'm tired, James," she admitted, her voice wavering as she spoke. "I'm tired of waiting for you, of being your second choice. I deserve better than this. I deserve to be someone's first choice, not their backup plan." There was a pause as she took a deep breath, gathering her courage before adding, "I'm letting go.”

"But, Y/N," James started desperately, but she cut him off. "No, James. It's over. Goodbye." With that, she ended the call, her heart aching as she did so. Up until that moment, she had hoped that things might change and that James might come to see her as more than just a friend, more than just a backup plan. But it was clear now that that was never going to happen. She had to let him go, for her own sake.

It was a painful decision, but she knew it was the right one. She deserved to be more than someone's second choice. She deserved to be loved and cherished as much as she loved and cherished others. And maybe one day she will find that person. But for now, it was time for her to focus on herself. It was time to heal and move forward. It was time to let go.

#james potter #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter angst #james potter fic

[hopleii]

since you admitted it,

content: tsukishima x fem!reader angst, breakup, cheating, fighting, trashy writing, not proofread, kinda ooc, swearing lmk if i missed some!

a/n: inspired by Babe - Taylor Swift!! I keep forgetting i have responsibilities on this account lolzies, anyways, I think this is my first time writing angst? also, i'm working on some requests rn so sorry for the delayyy :(

you and tsukishima have been arguing for what seemed like hours now. yelling at each other back and forth, throat hurting from all the screams and explaining.

"for God's sake, I didn't do shit with her! how many times do I have to say that!?" tsukishima screams. there's this girl that's been making you uncomfortable, she was beautiful. her face so pretty almost as if it was carefully crafted by god himself, her voice so sweet and smooth like honey. you felt insecure.

tsukishima had been getting close with her, which wasn't a problem at first. so what if he was friends with her, right? wrong. eventually, tsukishima had been getting way too close, cancelling plans "because she needs help studying" or "she's not feeling well, I need to be there for her"

you were getting sick. though, you held your tongue. you stayed silent and let it slide, maybe they're just good friends, that's all. is what you kept repeating to yourself.

"why are you so mad that I'm hanging out with her, geez! you have guy friends and you hangout with them all the time, why are you suddenly mad at me and her just because you're insecure? you're always like this when we hangout!" he screams again. this was the first time you ever brought it up, what could he possibly mean by 'always'?

"stop dragging useless shit into this, tsukishima! you're not stupid so stop acting like it! you know that those gestures are more than friendly!" you scream back, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I have NEVER brought this up until now, why are you so defensive, kei?! why are you hiding things from me?"

"I'm not fucking hiding anything, okay!? what do you want me to do? she's my friend! I can't just stop talking to her even if I wanted to!"

bullshit.

"really? you can't?" you say through choked sobs "are you fucking kidding me, kei? you can't? you can't stop holding her waist? you can't stop cancelling plans just to go to her house? you can't stop kissing her when you think i'm not looking? are you kidding me?"

you were shaking with anger, you couldn't find the right words at that moment, you wanted to scream and cry and shout at him but you just couldn't.

"what the hell are you talking about? I can never do anything like that, especially not with her--"

"well now you can because we're over! I can't do this anymore, kei!"

silence fills the room for a few minutes, you clench your fists so hard you were shaking. but what really bothered you the most was the slightly relieved expression on tsukishima's face.

only punctuated by your ragged breaths and the remnants of your tears staining your cheeks. tsukishima's eyes widened, the relief he initially wore began to fade into a mix of shock and regret.

tsukishima's voice, no longer fueled by anger, now shaken with uncertainty. "wait, just, let's not make reckless decisions here. I didn't mean for it to come to this!"

your heart ached as you gazed into his eyes. at that moment, you questioned if you had done the right thing. but you knew that the doubt, insecurity, and pain that had been bottling up in you had pushed you.

trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt, you finally had the strength to confront him. "Kei, you need to tell me the truth. did you do more than just kiss her?" the words hung heavily in the air, and a knot formed in the pit of your stomach.

tsukishima's shoulders slumped even further, and he let out a long, heavy sigh. with a voice that was almost a whisper, he admitted, "yes, I did, but--"

you let out a quivering gasp, covering your mouth with your hands. utterly disgusted with what he just admitted. betrayal surged through your veins, overshadowing the pain that had been lingering. the air became suffocating, and you struggled to comprehend the reality of his admission.

"i'm leaving," your voice shaking as you fought tears that threatened to overflow again "i should've known..."

tsukishima's gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet your eyes. "i... i didn't want to hurt you. i was going to tell you eventually...i just couldn't find the right time i--"

a bitter laugh escaped your lips, "you thought hiding the truth would spare my feelings? how could you?"

tsukishima started to get angry again, his ego and pride unable to handle the truth in your words. "fucking hell," he mumbles "i messed up, okay? i never meant for it to get this far. it just...happened."

your anger flared again, and you took a step back, distancing yourself from him. "no, tsukishima, it didn't just happen. you made choices, and you chose to betray me!"

as you turned to leave, his voice trailed after you, desperate and regretful. "i'm sorry, i really am."

but the apology fell on deaf ears. the door closed behind you, leaving tsukishima alone in the haunting silence of the room.

#haikyuu x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x you #works—💌 #haikyuu #haikyuu angst

[partycatty]

thinking about young mk11 johnny being a bad boyfriend then you meet him again years later when he’s mature and he REGRETS IT SO BAD

i have so many ideas but i can’t get them out recently so ur account gives me life lol <3

OUGH it aches in the bones

older!johnny cage > as the day you left

notes: oooghuig "in another life" trope hurts so BAD.

[ masterlist ]

• a military job wasn't in your grand plan, but a position opened for equipment maintenance it was hard to turn down the potentially heavy paycheck.

• you were buried in your paperwork, taking quick strides to your office to make sense of your diagnostics and order the proper parts for one of the on-field machines when you slam into what feels like a brick wall. just as the force of the blow sends you backward, a hand grabs your arm and suspends you mid-fall.

• you don't even have time to properly react to the scene, only opening your harshly clenched eyes to meet your savior.

• "sorry, i wasn't looking where i—" your apology was cut off when you properly processed just who was in front of you. even with the tattoo peeking through his shirt, you knew that face from anywhere. "johnny?"

• you expected johnny to not even remember you, maybe take a second to realize you weren't just a fan. this expectation is torn from you when he replies with your name, loud and clear. his eyes are wide. gently, he lets go of you to allow you to regain your footing, pulling away as if you were a glass doll bound to shatter.

• he looked the same as when you walked out, perhaps a little more weathered but glowing with charm and personality just as he did twenty odd years ago. thankfully, you thought, he never lost that puppy-like shine in his eyes.

• the moment was lost to him the second he locked eyes. just like that, a torrent of memories flooded back to him. you two were young, too young to be serious in his eyes. johnny was in his acting prime and he couldn't help but flaunt it. all those smiles and sparkly outfits for the cameras but as soon as you were behind closed doors you were nothing more but exhausted.

• "i can't keep living like my life is under a microscope," you huffed, shrugging off the luxury shawl johnny went through hell to make sure you'd have for the red carpet. "would it kill you to just settle down, slow down? i want kids, johnny! i want to go to the store without paparazzi up my ass, i don't need stalkers on our property, i don't need the gold and glamor all the damn time!"

• "well, that's on you for choosing a megastar!" johnny shouted back, undoing his tie in one harsh tug. "all you've ever done is complain when you are literally living large! mansions, super cars, money! and you're complaining."

• you spin around, a horrified expression on your face as you unpacked his wording. "i didn't choose a megastar," your voice drops, so angry you couldn't bring yourself to shout. "i chose john carlton. where the hell is he now, because all i see is a narcissistic child that refuses to grow up."

• you slide your engagement ring off and you slam it into the ground. johnny's eyes widen as he immediately drops to his knees, trying desperately to grasp at the ring as it rolls and spirals out of grasp. he curses to himself, then at you.

• "look at yourself," you grit your teeth. "you care more about a rock than your fiancée. we're done, johnny. you can go tell the media that, too, since that's all you care about."

• johnny blinks once, then twice. he swallows thickly.

• "i'm sorry," is all he can mutter out. god, how he wishes he could say more, but time felt nonexistent when looking at your face. you, however, didn't quite understand his meaning and brushed yourself off.

• "no, it's fine, really," you try to shove past him, anything to break this eye contact that feels as if it's pulling you apart piece by piece. as you think you're out of the weeds, his hand finds its place on your arm once more.

• "please look at me," he pleads, voice barely above a mumble. "i-i haven't seen you in..."

• "—twenty six years," you blink up at him, straining yourself so hard to not break down. "forget it."

• "i'm sorry," he emphasizes the phrase again. "i... i was an asshole, an arrogant, self-centered—"

• "johnny." you cut him off, face stern but voice soft. "it was so many years ago."

• "i know, i know, but — fuck — you've... you've been on my mind this entire time. you never left. god, when you left it felt like my entire... everything fell apart."

• you want to interject, stop him from this spiral, but you can tell he had it bottled up for so long, you'd be cruel to deny him of it now. that, and you had an unfortunate tendency to hear people out and forgive those who don't need your forgiveness.

• "when you walked out i realized just how good i could've had it. you were the only sane person in my world, you tried so hard to keep me in track but i was so afraid of being nothing that i... chose my priorities wrong. you know, i've kept your contact information, even... just in case."

• "i changed my number years ago, johnny. to stop the media from bugging me for a comment."

• "just another thing i fucked up," he runs a hand through his hair. "sorry, i don't mean to be all self destructive." he pauses, and eyes you down. you yourself aged well too, fine lines and trickles of grey hair peeking through your uniform hat. johnny chuckles dryly as his eyes focus on the little details. "you look just as beautiful as the day you left me."

• "don't do this," you quietly plead, eyes now feeling wet and face feeling hot. "not now. not after all this time."

• "i..." he swallows again, now averting his eye contact. the pause is long, and you almost considered walking away before he speaks up again. "i got married, by the way, though i'm sure you saw... in the news."

• "i haven't." johnny shoots a dubious look at you, then realizes you probably avoided his name like the plague in news articles.

• "my wife runs the army. my daughter is commander."

• "daughter?" now it was your turn to frown.

• "cass... cassandra?" johnny explains, though you sense a hint of shame in his tone. "cassie."

• "didn't strike you for a family man." the irony stings when it slips past your lips.

• "i didn't either," he wipes his face. "but i realized... far too late... that what i wanted more than a legacy for myself was a legacy for my family. i wanted my efforts to mean something. i wanted to better the world with more than just shitty movies."

• just as your turn rose to frown, now you couldn't help but let out a chuckle yourself. "your movies weren't shitty," you reply, smiling weakly. "i liked them."

• "no you didn't," his grin is teasing, and you notice just how deep his smile lines were. "no need to lie."

• "honest to god," you hold a hand up, swearing. "they were a nice escape from reality."

• his lips turn into a fine line. maybe your choice of wording was more painful than intended. his fists clench and unclench and you watch his mouth fight to get more words out.

• "i wish..." the always confident actor couldn't bring himself to look at you. "i wish i had grown up sooner, you know." johnny could be digging a dangerous hole, but he didn't care in the moment. he felt young again, nostalgic. "we could have had a life like this together, like you want... wanted."

• "you have that now," you get defensive, trying to put a barrier between his words and your heart. "a wife, a kid, a good job. you got what you wanted."

• "but it's not with you."

• whether it was dread or excitement, your heart flutters. was it really true that after all this time, he still wanted you, missed you like you missed his mature self? your thoughts of what could've been claw their way into your mind, and you feel hazy. your eyes wander around his form again, taking in his impressive physique, kind eyes, mature outfit... stopping at the ring finger. your breath feels sucked from your lungs when you pull yourself back to reality.

• "maybe in another life," you propose, a weak shrug tugging at your shoulders. "but i hope you know i don't... i don't regret what we had. our story, though, ended twenty six years ago, johnny. you're in a new chapter, enjoy it, okay?"

• the rejection at his desperation feels like a gunshot to the chest, like he could just die then and there. yeah, he had roots here, but if you had just asked him to run away with you, lord knows he'd consider it. but you wouldn't ask him to do such a thing, when he's finally got his shit figured out.

• another coworker enters the long hallway, entranced in their task that tears both of your attentions away from the heavy conversation. you know even still that his reputation is important, on screen and now off, too. so, you abandon the conversation as it stands, not giving johnny a chance to agree to your request and spin on your heel, returning to your own assignment and leaving him to his own. your head is down as you hug the papers, wishing to forget that you work with your ex-soulmate. it's an impossible task, really, when you catch his lingering cologne and scent on your body from his hold. that scent didn't change, either.

• johnny feels frozen in place, afraid to move and lose the moment where it stands. he watches you until you turn the corner, and listens for your footsteps until there isn't a trace of them anymore. his heart feels... heavy.

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #mk11 #marley writes ☆

[hgfictionwriter]

Ache

Jessie Fleming x reader

Summary: Sometimes love isn't enough. Despite how much you and Jessie love each other, life gets in the way.

A/N / Warning: Angst. And no smut. Yet lol.

A heavy sigh escaped you as you rounded the corner to your apartment. Your eyes were trained on the concrete below as you dug in your pocket for your keys. The evening wind was brisk and sharp against your skin. When you lifted your gaze, the figure before you froze you in your tracks and your chest tightened immediately, breath catching in your throat.

"Jessie?"

She'd been staring at the ground and her head snapped up as she was broken from her thoughts. She shot up from where she'd been sitting on the ledge of the garden outside your building. Her eyes were wide as she looked to you and though she opened her mouth to speak, the words were lost on the tip of her tongue.

It'd been weeks since you'd talked and so much longer since she'd been to your apartment. You swallowed and internally cursed at how, even after all this time, just the sight of Jessie made your eyes prickle with the start of tears.

"Again?" She'd asked. Her voice was tired as it came through the phone and you cast your gaze down at the disappointment that bled through.

"I'm sorry. I tried to get someone else to go, but I own the account, so-"

"I know, I get it," she cut you off. There was no malice in her voice, but it wasn't any less sad. "I know you have to go."

"I'll be back on the 6th. My flight doesn't get in until after dinner, but you can come over," you told her, trying to sound positive.

"I leave for camp at 4 the next morning." Again, her words were simple and they weren't accusatory, but the heaviness between you was loud. You stopped trying to hide.

"We've only seen each other once this month," you stated.

"I know," she said quietly.

Silence began to fill your conversation.

"So, what do we do?" You finally asked. Your chest already ached knowing what the answer was. This feeling, this moment, had been creeping in for months. You'd done what you could to keep it at bay, but its inevitable arrival was here.

A few seconds later she responded.

"I don't think things are going to change any time soon." Her voice was soft, mixed with regret and acceptance. "And it shouldn't. We're both doing what we should be doing. I can't slow down - I have to make the most of my career while I can. It's the same for you."

"I know," you agreed as tears began to well in your eyes. "I'm so proud of you, you know." You added with a small laugh that didn't fully veil the way your voice choked up. "And I never want to hold you back."

"I'm proud of you, too," she echoed, her own voice growing thick with emotion. "And same - I'd never want to hold you back either."

"I really love you," you continued and your voice cracked under the strain. "I hope you've felt that."

"I have." She sniffled. "I love you, too, and I hope you've never had to doubt that."

You bit down on your lip, looking up to the ceiling as tears began to fall down your cheeks.

"I guess this is it,” you said more than asked as your voice wavered.

Another sniffle came through the phone. "I think so." Her voice was taut. "I still want to be friends," she added in a rush, her voice shaking, "but this isn't working. I can't give you what you need, and..."

"I can't give you what you need," you finished for her.

"Yeah," she admitted quietly. "I've never wanted someone the way I want you. I love you so much-" her voice was breaking "-I miss you all the time. And even when we're together, it breaks my heart because I know we have to leave again soon."

"It hurts to be together and apart. I know the feeling," you relayed sadly. "I wish it wasn't this way. I can't imagine loving anyone more."

"I don't want to ask you to wait. And I know you won't ask me to wait for you because neither of us wants to make promises we can't keep."

"Jessie." Her name came out in a strangled whimper and you heard her cry.

"I can't imagine not loving you. But, if you meet someone who makes you happy and gives you what you need...," she trailed off.

"I understand. And I wish the same for you," you said even though it felt like a dagger through your heart.

Silence infiltrated your conversation once more before a laugh escaped you, though it came out more like a sob.

"I did not expect this call to go this way."

Jessie gave a watery laugh of her own. "Me neither." A pause. "I guess it's been coming though."

"I know," you relented. "I just didn't want it to be true."

After a few moments, Jessie spoke again.

"I love you, Y/N."

"I love you, too, Jessie. Always."

You said you'd be friends, but it was all at once too easy and too difficult. As was the problem, it wasn't that often you got to see each other or talk, but when you did, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to be with her. So when she stood too close, held your gaze for too long, or when you'd hug at the end of the night and hold onto one another too tightly and for too long, it tore you apart.

That had gone on for nearly a year, and it hadn't gotten any easier. You fell back into old habits just too easily.

The last time you saw each other, at a mutual friend’s birthday, she’d come over to say “hi”. Innocent enough until something as simple as showing her something on your phone turned into you two sitting so close together your legs touched. As you talked, if you turned your head too much to the side your lips would’ve grazed her cheek. Did she mean for her hand to brush against yours?

The only way to move on was to cut yourself off completely. She'd understood and she even apologized for making things difficult, but it wasn't just her, it was you too.

Now, here she was sitting outside of your apartment, shivering and cold, looking to you and struggling to find her words.

"What are you doing here?" You finally asked. "Shouldn't you be with the team?"

"You saw?" She asked, looking so innocent and you cursed the rush of affection that rose in you.

"Win the Shield? Of course I did." You had to laugh. A smile finally broke out across her freckled face and that still too familiar pink tinge grew darker across her cheeks. You relented some. "You were great. No surprise."

Jessie began to fidget, her hands jostling in her jacket pockets and she shuffled idly from foot to foot. She scratched the back of her neck as she went back to studying the pavement. This time she managed to speak though.

"I-I'm sorry to show up out of the blue. I just - we were all celebrating, and of course I was happy, but, I-I don't know." She huffed in frustration. “I’ve been sitting here thinking and planning what I was going to say and now…”

"It's okay, Jess," you told her gently, understanding that this was not her norm and something was clearly going on. She looked up at you and gave a couple of grateful nods. She studied you for a few seconds and it pained you that even during that time you were getting lost in her eyes.

"I know you said you don't want to see me - that being around each other and talking was making it too hard to move on." She paused, though her eyes didn't leave yours. You saw her steel herself and she straightened up as she continued. "But I don't want to move on. And, to be honest, I've known it deep down for a while now.

"Today - every game, really - I found myself looking out into the crowd too many times searching for you. And when we were leaving, everyone's all stoked to go out and party, but I just wanted to be with you - anywhere with you. I wanted to share this with you. So, even after a year of me trying to tell myself that we made the right decision, I know we - or at least I - was dead wrong. Because I miss you. So much.” Her voice wavered and her eyes glistened. “It's not just this that I want to share with you - it's every day, little moments and the big. I don’t care if it has to be through text or a call most of the time. It just has to be you.”

"Jessie." You breathed her name out, trying desperately to process everything she was telling you. She took a step towards you, shoulders set and determined and she carried on.

"I love you. From the beginning and I never stopped. I know you're trying to move on, but this is me taking a chance and telling you how I feel. I don't want you to move on - I want to be the person you come home to, the person you call, with you through the good and the bad. I know our schedules are still a problem, but I'd rather have one evening with you than a year without."

Your breath hitched as her proclamations grew. You saw her clench and unclench her fists nervously before she continued.

“And even if one day you’d decide we could be friends again,” she trailed off momentarily, gaze shifting away before settling on you once again resolutely, “honestly, I don’t want to be friends. You’re right - we can’t be friends. I can’t be next to you and pretend I don’t want to hold you, I don’t want to kiss you. Or talk with you and not tell you that I love you and you mean the world to me. And,” she took a steadying breath, “I’m really hoping that you feel the same.”

Jessie fidgeted a bit, some of her doubt and insecurity creeping back in. Still, she looked at you with hopeful eyes.

"So, will you have me?"

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #jflem #woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso imagine #canwnt

[pigeonp0st]

Wow, I just finished reading your most recent piece with Kara and it was really well done. You mentioned the idea of immortality in that and wondered how that could be used in a different piece perhaps. Kara (Plus Alex and the others) possibly finding out that reader is immortal and has been for a long time. (As a sort of headconnon or what not. I’d presume reader would be running a personally owned company, as big if not bigger than L-Corp. What with having a long time to amass wealth)

Kara Danvers X Reader

Summary:

Reader reveals she’s immortal to the super friends. Kara comforts her.

warnings:

Angst

Notes:

Thanks for the request! Sorry for taking so long. It being shorter is the sacrifice I’ve made to return to writing, but I hope you enjoy anyways!

——

It’s game night that the super friends find out about my immortality.

It comes out when Lena says she’s been looking into my company, wanting to buy it. She mentions curiously that it says I’m the founder, when it’s well known my company has been around for nearly a hundred years.

And, well…It comes out then, because you’ve stopped being secretive about it when it stopped being something you had to be secretive about…

They know now— of my immortality, and though I should feel relief at the being known, of the truth I’ve not done much to hide revealing itself, all I feel is discontent. Discontent and unsatisfied, unsatisfied because the agony and empathy in their eyes is lackluster. They know now, and even as they try to understand they’re incapable of it.

I am immortal, and yet I have lived a thousand lives in my one everlasting one. There’s so much devastation in every end when you’ve had countless of new beginnings. I do best in the in between where l don’t have to face either beginning or end. It’s in the start of something new that every fiber of my being screams for stop.

Getting used to something doesn’t mean it gets easier, in the same way grief often works. I am constantly grieving my lives, and it’s become a heavy burden they could never understand.

It hurts in a way I hadn’t accounted for. With the coming of Superman, the rise of aliens, the new acceptance of them—there’s a rise of difference, and in that alternative community. It makes you feel better, this new life. It’s given you more hope of being understood than ever before, but to be faced with your friend’s sympathetic eyes, it all feels lackluster.

Even more so when Winn makes a nerdy comment about wanting to know the truth about history. Everyone laughs, laughs and leaves me alone in the same instant.

I laugh along, searching for connection and finding none. Disappointment was the backside of the renewed hope this life has given me. I felt intensely that there was no point in explaining any of anything that had ever happened for me. To reject them that would allow me the dignity of being not understood on my own terms.

It is better to be alone by yourself, than to be alone surrounded by people after all.

Karas eyes meet mine. She’s sitting by Alex and Lena’s feet. Her and Lena the only ones not laughing, trying to lighten the mood. Lena gives me an apologetic smile, on behalf of the others. There’s connection there.

Kara…Kara just goes distant. Goes distant then, and then goes distant the rest of the game night. It’s when everyones leaving and she stops me, I understand, or accept really; it was because of me. What I said.

I’d been hoping I wouldn’t have to speak on it ever again, regret like acid still in my stomach.

“You…” Kara pauses, searches my eyes—for what, I don’t know. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She must sense the way this kills me from the way I wince, because she pulls me into a hug. A hug full of emotion. It shatters me in a way, because it feels like permission. Permission to fall apart.

I can’t, I’ve learned. Know now that if I start, I’ll never stop. All I can do is use logic as avoidance from my heart, and move forward with something resembling acceptance.

I pull away.

“Superman, you, all the aliens, the Meta-Humans, all of you have stretched the definition of what we call ‘humanity’, what we call ‘heart’, and yet still I feel like it escapes me.” It aches as I admit it—feels like a terrible, stupid thing.

Stupid because I have lived so long and yet still, here I am, so agonizingly affected. There are things I know, things I’ve learned, and they all mean nothing.

Kara shakes her head, eyebrows furrowed. She rejects it all. “That very thing inside of that feels different, alone in your experience, that is the very thing that actually connects you to humanity,” Kara says, her eyes soft and understanding.

Understanding in this, in this that she can understand. My heart quickens, I watch Kara, think of hope. Think of her.

Kara who has lost her whole world, her whole culture, who has taken her past and her aloneness and had become a hero, instead of something much darker. “Is there anyone like you, Kara?” I ask. It’s perhaps the question that has tormented her, the way it torments me— “is there anyone like me?”— but I say it like a gift. With reverence.

She is different, inexplicably so. It’s the best thing about her. Kara smiles shyly, looks down, fixes her glasses. “There’s you,” she whispers, “with an aloneness not anyone in this world could understand.”

There’s something about her saying it as it is that settles something inside of you.

“To feel so alone, and have it be the very thing that connects me, and in actuality makes me not alone,” l muse, somehow impressed. There’s not a life that has taught me more than the one with Kara.

There’s a gratitude inside me larger than all the life I’ve lived.

Kara grins, she pulls me in again. Hugs me tight. “I’m sorry about Alex asking to recruit you,” she whispers after a while. I let her words be the thing that has me pulling away, despite Kara’s pout at it.

I smile hesitantly, waving away Kara’s apology. “When Superman showed up it had me thinking about it, but my immortality has been taken advantage of before, and not being able to die isn’t as strong of a power as you might think,” I admit, “I’m not as strong as you’d think.”

Kara gives me a disbelieving look. My defensiveness looks like guilt to her, I know. It is. It’s guilt and fear. I’d want nothing more than to make this forever mean something, but I’m plagued by all of its consequences.

She lets me get away with the things left unsaid, thankfully. In my gratefulness I decide not to ask about her own prolonged life, despite my ongoing curiosity.

I know it’s a sensitive topic. There’s almost all of me that hurts for her, and then there’s a small part of me that thinks; I can live with her longer.

Supergirl, Kara Danvers, Kara Zor-el; my love.

I cough, adjust my bag over my shoulder, and step away. I know I have to before I kiss her in the dim lighting of her apartment, in the body that gets the honor to live alongside her. “See you tomorrow, Supergirl?”

Kara nods, eyes dark. She bites her lip, looks away with a flush. “Yep. One hundred percent. Lunch, right? Right. Yeah. I’ll be there,” Kara confirms, turning an even darker red at my responding eyebrow raise.

“Yeah,” I say, amused. “I’ll be there too. Wouldn’t miss it for my life.”

Kara laughs. Fills your heart for lifetimes with it. You leave with the hope of tomorrow, and the sound of her laugh.

#kara danvers x reader #supergirl #supergirl imagine #supergirl x reader #kara zor el x reader #kara zor el imagine #kara danvers imagine #kara zor el #kara x reader #kara danvers #kara zorel #supergirl fic #supergirl cw #x female y/n #x female reader #dc x you #dc imagine #dc x y/n #dc x reader #dc fic #dcu x reader #x fem!reader #x fem oc #x you #x you fluff #x you angst #melissa benoist #dcu #dc comics #dc universe

[dontexpectmuch]

hey!! can you write a part 2 of the clingy y/n breakup? but from jude’s pov, where he doesn’t like it at first, missed her and sees her move on etc…thank you!!

jude‘s point of view

jude sat on his couch, opening and closing his messages over and over again, in hopes to have your message pop up. he couldn’t explain why, but he woke up with the feeling that today would finally be the day where you two would meet again. or at least talk. or at least acknowledge the other. just something to help soothe that aching in his heart.

“i don’t want to be in a relationship with you anymore.”, as those words left his lips, jude could feel the weight lift off his shoulders, like he had been carrying something so heavy that it hindered him from taking deep breaths.

his eyes looked at your hurt expression, your lips pulled to a straight line as you tried your best to keep calm, all while jude knew that he had broken your heart apart. he watched you as you listened how he ripped the u from the s, how he mercilessly crushed all the hopes you had for the relationship. and in that moment, jude didn’t feel any regret.

was he a bad person? he sat there, in front of you, somewhat eager to end the relationship, eager to gain new experience, to be free.

looking back, all he could do now was to scoff, shaking his head at his absurd way of thinking. free? he wanted to be free? the only time he felt free was when he was next to you, the one who gave him the wings to fly as high as he wanted. he may have not regretted it then, but he sure does now. maybe he should call you, or maybe he should just go to your flat. last time he checked, which was yesterday if he was being honest, you still lived near that park. that one, where the two of you shared your first kiss.

it was cold, the cold air pinched your cheeks as you walked next to jude, his arm lightly brushing against yours.

“it’s cold.” you said, coming to a halt while looking at the frozen lake in front of you. jude followed suit, standing close to your body, looking at your face.

“want me to warm you up?” he asked, teasingly.

confused, you turn your head to look at his, though you were met with a pair of cold lips on top of yours.

what a nice way to warm up, he thought.

“don’t call me in general, jude. leave me alone.” your voice came out weak, though it had enough strength to stab through his heart. you closed the door, finalizing your decision on not getting back together.

jude felt like screaming, he felt like punching something, taking out all the anger he held for himself.

stupid, stupid, stupid, how could he have been so stupid?

he went back home, once again laying on the couch as he went through your instagram account. on his fake account, he may add, since you had blocked his normal one. and with each post and story in your highlights passing, he felt sick.

you looked quite good, finally posting after months. your smile reached your eyes, your skin was glowing, just like back then when you were still a couple.

his daily check up was interrupted when he noticed a male hand on one of your posts, on the table in a café, maybe. there was a red heart on the corner of the picture.

a red fucking heart.

did you have a new man, was that the reason why you wouldn’t listen to him? didn’t you love him anymore? did you move on?

all these questions made jude pace around in the room, frustration growing inside of him.

but, in the end he knew. he was quite aware that everything is his fault, he didn’t habe the rights to complain. so, he suffered.

he regretted his every decision that lead to the break up.

——————————————

i am a married woman. this goes to her, come home the kids miss you.

#football one shot #football x reader #x reader #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x reader #football #jude bellingham #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham fluff

[hyperactively-me]

Okay so I just found your account and hello??? You’re amazing???? I’m OBSESSED with your king!Simon stuff and I will be binging it immediately.

Do you have any thoughts or can I make a request on a blurb if queen!reader never forgave Simon after his outburst? Like if she just couldn’t get past the hurt of his words and their marriage was never the same?

ho hoh hooo. yeah. let's get down and dirty with this one

(noncanon)

king!ghost x reader -- alternate ending to 'anger' warnings: heavy angst, unhappy ending, hurt/no comfort, don't worry this is NOT canon!!!

Your relationship with Simon, once a haven of stolen kisses and whispered promises, became a haunting abyss of regret and desolation. The walls of the castle echoed with the hollow footsteps of your irreparably broken relationship. Simon's attempts to mend the bridge were met with a cold silence, the wounds of his harsh words refusing to heal.

The only thing was you still loved him. You loved him so much, but how could you trust him again? How would you know that he wouldn't turn against you again, casting you out and disposing you like you were merely a nuisance he had to deal with?

A relentless ache settled in your chest some time ago, refusing to leave. Pain became a constant companion, woven into the very fabric of your existence. The days dragged on like a never-ending slump, always trying your best to avoid him when you could.

News had traveled around the palace staff that you two were no longer speaking, although Simon had tried to multiple times, only for it to end in bitter argument again and again. Those arguments heightened your anxiety, always reminding you that he thinks you're not good enough, which inevitably became your inherent belief. You stepped on the shards of your shattered love, cutting your feet on the remnants of a relationship that had once been your refuge.

Yet, hints of love still lingered in the shadows, and your anguish refused to subside. Or, was it love? Or was it just a longing for things to return back to the way they were? Who knows.

Simon's presence, once a source of comfort, now felt thick with tension. In the times you did have to be around him, you were curt and icy, no matter how many times he tried to talk to you, all in an attempt to shield your wounded heart. You would avoid his gaze, barely even looking at him.

More weeks pass by in a monotonous haze, your love for Simon now transformed into a bittersweet kind of poison. The remnants of his touch, once your lifeline, something you craved, now squeezed at your heartstrings with a vice grip. The ache in your chest persisted, a cruel reminder that apologies alone couldn't mend a broken heart.

One evening, you sat out in your garden, staring at nothing in particular with bags under your eyes from a lack of sleep. You didn't hear Simon approach, his eyes narrowing in on you with regret. He reaches out, a desperate plea in his touch, but you immediately recoil.

Simon pulls away, his face contorted into sorrow and frustration.

"Please, just talk to me," Simon implored.

You swallow thickly, looking away to avoid the intensity of his gaze. That familiar ache in your chest intensifies, a silent scream echoing in your mind.

"I can't keep doing this," Simon admitted, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I miss us. I miss you."

You put up your hand in a 'stop' motion.

"Ghost, please. I can't... I can't go back to the way things were," you whisper, refusing to look up at him.

His eyes, once filled with determination, now mirrored the desolation that defined your relationship. A heavy silence sits between you two.

"I know I hurt you, and I hate myself for it," Simon continues, his voice edged with desperation. "I'd do anything to take it back."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the tremor in your voice. "Simon, love can't fix everything. Trust has to be earned, and... I don't know if I can ever trust you again. I can't forgive you. You've caused me so much pain."

Simon's shoulders sagged even further, as if the weight of the universe pressed upon him.

But your resolve remained unyielding. The pain of his words lingered, leaving scars that ran too deep to heal with mere apologies. The walls around your heart had become impenetrable.

Simon stood there for a moment, the weight of your words settling over him like a heavy cloak. His face was etched with a mixture of sorrow and regret.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the wind carrying his words, leaving behind a charged silence.

Without waiting for a response, he turned away, leaving you alone in the garden with the echoes of a love that once flourished but now lay in complete and utter ruins.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth

chapter 3: reflux

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 3, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-2, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

typical warnings apply.

You blink your eyes open to a pounding headache and ringing ears. The ceiling above you is reeling as you’re pushed along in a gurney. Voices murmur and mumble around you, and your vision swims tauntingly. Your arm burns, stings, aches. Your eyelids feel incredibly heavy. You feel a hand on your cheek, prompting you to look into worried eyes. You blink dazedly, your vision blurring and spiraling. It doesn’t take long for you to fall into unconsciousness again. 

You dream of nothing and everything. You dream of winding halls, a labyrinth that never ends. You dream of harsh corners, broken glass, shattered reflections. You dream of glinting metal, sharpened blades, and cruel smiles. You drown in soil and breathe in rot and decay. Through it all, blood sticks to your skin like a vice—a reminder of your sins. 

When you finally wake, after an immeasurable amount of time, you find there to be little fanfare. There is no one for you to wake up to, nothing for you to look at save for a nearly empty hospital room with chipped paint coloring the walls. You take a deep breath and look up at the ceiling. You can hear the EKG’s steady beeps at your bedside. Your arm still hurts, but the pain isn’t nearly as bad as it was before. Upon closer examination, you realize your arm is bandaged. Blood seeps through the white bandages, threatening to mar the white sheets around you. In the still quiet of the evident night, you are gifted a brief reprieve: an escape from interaction and accountability. You’re grateful for it, even if the silence seems to vibrate with unease. 

The nurse comes before long—he’s not the same one you had before. You don’t bother to question it. He reapplies your bandages and sighs. “You are immensely lucky,” he remarks, turning away for a moment. “Just a few inches to the side and you’d be dead.” 

Yes, lucky, you think to yourself.  

The nurse doesn’t say anything else. You have to wonder if he was told about you—told you’ve been here quite a few times within the past year, told not to bother with pleasantries. You’re left to wonder as the nurse leaves the room, promising to return in a few moments. 

Nothing about this moment feels real. Maybe that’s why the guilt of your actions hasn’t quite caught up yet. You’ve felt a hint of remorse prickling along your skin, but nothing as strong as you had expected. It sort of feels like you’re dreaming. Perhaps you’ll even wake up soon. 

Unfortunately, you soon have to come to terms with the fact that you are not dreaming. This is reality: bleak, unassuming reality. The weight of it all is pushing you further into this thin hospital mattress, forcing you to remain bound and silent without confines. Your arm is bandaged, because you stabbed yourself. You stabbed yourself… to engineer a situation where Clark Ingram’s death— murder , a voice in your head coos—would be justifiable. Your arm burns, both from the knife and from the knowledge of your crimes. 

For the first few days of your hospital stay, you don’t get visitors. You suspect the visitors who typically stop by are growing tired of showing up. After all, this is your third or fourth time in the hospital. It’s likely more of a chore than anything else. Teetering on the edge between life and death is a scary situation, but you’ve occupied that grey area for so long now that almost nothing seems to truly surprise you.

Beverly highlights the notion when she arrives one morning. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she quips, shoving her hands in her leather jacket after closing the door behind her. She leans against the wall. 

You huff. “Hi, Bev,” you say, managing to get past the raspiness of your unused voice. 

“I’m convinced you’re single handedly burning through the injury budget for our department,” Bev says with a sigh. You take a deep breath. This banter with Beverly makes you feel… normal. 

“Hey, someone’s gotta do it,” you shrug goodnaturedly. Beverly rolls her eyes, before crossing her arms over her chest. 

For a few seconds, there is only silence. An unfamiliar tension settles in the air. “Seriously though,” Beverly says. There is nothing but sincerity in the expression on her face. “There’s only so much of this my heart can take.” And that hits you like a knife to the gut. 

You never considered how your friends must feel in these types of situations. You’ve probably caused Beverly so much unnecessary worry and concern.  Selfish. “I’m sorry,” you grimace. The statement doesn’t feel like enough.  

“Just… be more careful, okay?” Bev sighs. “Never thought I’d have to be the one to say that to you.” You’re not sure you trust the weight of your own words anymore, so you don’t respond. You don’t promise anything, because you’re not sure you can. Thankfully, Beverly doesn’t seem to be expecting a response. Instead, she elects to sit in the chair at your bedside. Not for the first time, you wonder how you managed to get such a good friend. 

Beverly stays for a while, before the nurse comes by and kicks her out. She leaves, albeit with a grumble under her breath about unnecessary precautions. After Beverly, there is no one and nothing. Every time you close your eyes, you see Ingram’s face—the genuine fear that overtook his expression when he saw your finger inch closer towards the trigger. You see his victims, drowning in soil and suffocating. Every time you blink, you see blood spilling down your arms, coating your skin in murky crimson. 

You fade in and out. The days melt into one another, stretching out into an indistinguishable, tangled mess. The healing process seems painfully slow, as if your body is forcing you to slow down and come to terms with the consequences of your own actions. These injuries are starting to take a toll. Your abdomen stings—from remembrance or genuine pain, you can’t be sure. 

In the midst of a hazy and dimly lit afternoon, you get another visitor. 

“Agent,” a familiar voice says. You look up and towards the door, only to find Jack Crawford standing in the doorway. He looks the same as ever, save for the concerningly tight pull to his lips and shoulders. Indeed, he looks rather tense—almost uncharacteristically so. 

“Jack,” you remark. “I wasn’t expecting you.” Indeed, Jack has visited you every single time you’ve found yourself injured and confined to this hospital. It’s highly unusual for someone as high up as Jack—the Head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit—to consistently find the time to make hospital visits. It’s as your teacher once said: “When you go out, you go out alone. You will wake up alone…  You will be alone.” There had been a haunting expression on her face as she said that, almost as if she were recalling a past experience. The class had been eerily silent. 

Jack shoots you a disbelieving eyebrow, before his face falls back into stony callousness. The room feels a lot colder. Looks like he’s going to get right to business. “You may be wondering why you were never given another psychological evaluation,” he begins, before taking another step, “After all, Lecter did yours—and there’s no guarantee he didn’t have an ulterior motive.” 

Somehow, despite all the events that transpired recently, you avoided another psychological evaluation. Any other agent would surely have been thrown into a psychiatric evaluation and several mandated therapy sessions for surviving such an ordeal… You received a grip on your shoulder and a murmured remark from Jack about doing well. You’re still not sure how to feel about that.

“Truthfully, I didn’t think you needed another evaluation,” Jack says, his lips set in a firm line. There’s something else coming. Sure enough, he continues. “I find myself questioning my judgment now. You’ve sent yourself to the hospital three times now.”

“Sent myself?” You repeat in disbelief. A shiver rolls down your spine, sending your skin prickling. “Jack, I didn’t intend for any of this to happen.” You don't enjoy the implications of his statement. 

“That may be,” Jack acquiesces. His hands are clasped behind his back and he’s the picture of quiet, calm authority. “But you’ve had extensive training that deals with these kinds of situations, that teaches you what to prioritize in those kinds of moments.” You bite your tongue and keep silent.  

“What disturbs me…” He breaks off once more. Jack always finishes his sentences—this kind of syntax is unusual for him. “ This -” He motions with a hand, “isn’t born out of a lackluster combat ability. You’re a damn good fighter.” You want to be honored by the compliment, but all you can feel is an unsettling apprehension. Sure enough, Jack isn’t finished speaking. “I’m going to book you for another psych eval.” 

The sheets thrown over you suddenly feel far too thin, as goosebumps run along your skin. You’re brutally aware of the expression on Jack’s face—conflict and resolution fighting for prominence in the set of his jaw. “Jack-” You try to say, scrambling for something to say. It’s beginning to feel as if the walls are caving in on you. 

“You haven’t made this easy, Agent,” Jack responds in lieu of an answer. He pulls something from his jacket pocket—a slip of paper with notes scrawled on it. Your heart drops into your stomach as you realize that he had planned this from the outset. “2:00 p.m. next Monday.” It is clear that Jack’s visit had one purpose, and one purpose only. He walks away, leaving you to stare after him in stunned disbelief.

In the wake of your conversation with Jack, your recovery feels nearly meaningless. What does it matter if you heal? You’re still barred from returning to work, unless you receive a signed form from the psychologist. Although, will that really be so difficult for you? A few years ago, it might have been. But since then, you’ve changed. You’ve developed, morphed into a person who has learned to be defensive, wary, covert. Indeed, haven’t you been keeping the pretense of composure this entire time? If you kept your knowledge of the Ripper’s identity hidden from him for so long, surely getting through an hour-long psychological assessment will be easy. 

And, indeed, it is easy. 

The psychologist you’re paired with is nice. That’s all you really have to say about them. Perhaps you’ve grown accustomed to discussions laced with existentialism while seated on expensive leather, a palpable tension sinking into the air. Or perhaps you’ve grown accustomed to answering questions with whatever the person wants to hear. You’ve gotten good at maintaining an illusion of calm and collected rationality when needed.

Plus, the evaluation protocol is extremely outdated. You have to do a Rorschach inkblot test, which makes you both thankful and extremely concerned for the future of the FBI. Safe to say, you walk out of the building an hour later with a signed paper in hand. It doesn’t take you long to decide to head right to the Bureau. Your heart is still hammering away in your chest as you drive there—even when you’re a good distance away from the psychologist’s office. 

When you finally get to the Bureau and arrive in Jack’s office, you place the signed form on his desk wordlessly. For a moment, he seems too caught up in the files in his hands to notice. After a few moments, he blinks and drags the paper closer to him. Jack examines the paper with a critical eye, before turning his attention back towards you. 

“Surprised?” You ask, as he studies your expression. Jack seems to be looking for something. You try to maintain a flat affect, if only so that he doesn’t find whatever he’s searching for. 

He sighs. “Agent, you know this is just protocol,” Jack responds. “No, I’m not surprised. It would be highly unprofessional of me to have expectations of the result.” He finishes. You want to believe him.

But you know deep down that Jack expected you to fail—perhaps even wanted you to fail. “Welcome back, Agent.” You know your mind is conjuring up the tone of resignation in his voice.  

You exit his office and walk back down the halls, an unexpected guilt stirring in your chest. You shouldn’t have lied to the psychologist. On the other hand, you knew that if you were truthful, you would never be able to return to the field. And there are lives at stake. You’re not foolish enough to think that your mere presence is enough to decrease criminality at large, but you know that the Bureau needs as many agents as possible on the front lines. 

There’s a buzzing, humming sound along your skin. “If you truly cared about the lives at stake, you would stay away,” a voice reasons. It takes you a few moments to realize that it’s Clark Ingram. A social worker has joined the group of tormented souls inhabiting the shadows of  your mind. The irony is not lost on you. You shake your head, before taking a deep breath and continuing to walk down the hall, your muscle memory navigating you towards your office even when your attention is elsewhere. “How many have been killed in the wake of your complacency?”  Ingram continues relentlessly. “Your neutrality is just as dangerous as my cruelty.” 

Your head pounds as you turn the corner to get to your office. When you finally find yourself standing in the doorway, you remember that you haven’t used the space in a bit—there’s dust collecting on the edges of your bookshelf and the surface of your desk. You close the door and sit down in your chair, ignoring the chilling recognition that you’re sitting right where Franklyn died. For a moment, you can feel phantom burgundy tears slipping down your cheeks. When you blink, you’re subject to the illusory sensation of someone reaching deep into your eye sockets and tugging, ripping at your optic nerves and tearing your sight away from you. 

Your leg bounces restlessly. The clock’s hand makes its routine journey across the smooth surface of the instrument, and its movements flit before your eyes in flickering flashes. You rub your eyes roughly. Conversations from the hall reach your ears, until they distort and morph into voices that continue to haunt you. Your fingers are twitching. 

Time is a fickle thing. Your office doesn’t have windows to let in sunlight, so you’re forced to take in the noise from the hallway to determine how long you’ve spent fading away in your chair. A rattling breath overtakes you, prompting you to breathe in and breathe out in a shuddering movement. You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes, letting the spiraling colors that manifest overtake your vision. 

When you open your eyes moments later, you’re briefly assaulted with a wave of sharpness and clarity. Then, your vision adjusts and you’re left staring at your unassuming office: the remains of your neat and tidy life. Somehow, deep-down, you know things will not stay that way. 

Your hands itch and you roll up your sleeves, despite knowing you won’t see soil caked on your skin like you’re imagining. Indeed, your arms are bare—save for the bandaged wound that you’re sure will scar. Looking down at it provokes a stirring feeling in your gut as memories of that day reach the forefront of your mind. 

For a while, you had lingered precariously on the edge between morality and criminality. Have you since slipped off that edge? When did your balance first falter? Were the scales already tipped—perhaps from the moment you sleep walked onto the road, finding yourself looking into the darkness and locking eyes with a crimson gaze? When did your grip start to weaken? 

And… where does that wavering leave you now?

next chapter

thanks for readingggg!

TAGLIST: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69

#defectivevillain #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal x male reader #hannibal x gn reader #male reader #gn reader

[codfanficedits]

Don't fall in love - Part two.

Summary:

You get warned not to fall in love with Ghost, but you did anyways. Turning this into a little series!

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 916 | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: a little bit of angst - swearing

Part One here

‘Don’t fall in love with him.’

And you can’t fall in love with something you can’t see, at least that is what you’re telling yourself as you avoid him. Memorizing how his footsteps sound like so you know when to slip out of rooms, to leave gatherings whenever your ears pick up the heavy steps. But you can’t avoid him forever, not matter how hard you try. The most hypocritical part? You’re hurt when he doesn’t look at you during a mission briefing. And now you understand the women you’ve seen crying about him before, because it seems like Ghost hold your whole being in the palm of his hand, only to crush it when he refuses to acknowledge you’re even there. Why are you craving his validation so much while you’re the person who turned him down, who left first? Why do these feelings have to be so complicated?

It isn’t until the briefing is dismissed that he finally looks at you and again you don’t know how to handle it, why do you want him to look at you and why do you want to look away at the same time. The cold air that he leaves behind when he walks past you without giving you a crumb of attention hurts into the core of your soul and you can feel the hot tears burn behind your eyes, but you refuse it. You refuse to become one of the women who were stupid enough to fall in love with him and cry about it, after all, you did get warned about it.

You feel regret whenever you remind yourself that you were the one who left him that night, because now your mind can torture you with things that could’ve been, but never happened because you decided to leave. You’re so lost in thought that you nearly bump into a large back. One you could recognize from afar.

Ghost turns around, those beautiful brown eyes are cold, harsh behind his mask.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“Am not.” You protest, although the both of you know it’s a blatant lie.

His eyes narrow, before he shakes his head. “Was it something I did?”

It’s a question that caught you off guard. The vulnerability in his voice wasn’t something you expected to hear, you had expected anger, coldness, hate maybe even, but not this. The man who you were warned about, stood before you, a strain on his voice as he asked you the question that had been haunting his heart for days now.

Ghost wanted to pull up the walls again, shut you out, move on to the next. But Simon needed to know, Simon couldn’t take your silence, a rejection that stabbed him through his heart. Because there were two longings inside of him, and one was fighting with the other. Simon wanted to be loved and Ghost wanted to be always alone.

Because Simon dreams of conversations Ghost never get to have. He is unable to take the silence anymore, the guilt growing rapid in him.

“Please. God, don’t tell me I did do anything you didn’t want.”

What? You’re confused. Is that what he is thinking? Now it’s your turn to feel the guilt inside of you grow. You were so caught up with your own feelings, you never took his feelings into account, after all, you were warned about him, to not fall in love with him.

He takes off his mask, the balaclava following after. A look of distress on his face as he runs a hand through that dirty blonde hair.

“Because if I did, I’m so sorry. I really thought you were into it too, and I never meant to push you over any of your boundaries.” The words spill out of him as water spills out of a breaking dam.

“Stop.”

Silence

“You didn’t do anything I didn’t want.” You reassure him.

“Then why?” The same strain on his voice again, a look of hurt on his face. But how can you tell him how you feel without giving him the ability to completely destroy you?

“Why do you avoid me?” He asks again, because Simon wanted to know what made him so unlovable.

“They told me not to fall in love with you.”

 “Why?” The look of hurt changes to one of disbelief.

“Because you break hearts!” A reproach towards him.

“I’m the one breaking hearts? I had to wake up in an empty bed while you promised to stay the night!”

Why did it bother him so much? You had heard the stories about him kicking women out right after he had reached his orgasm. He shouldn’t care at all.

“Why do you even care at all?” You snap back at him, trying to keep your own feelings hidden by going for the attack.

“Because I wanted you to be different.”

Silence.

You don’t know what to say, you’ve been so keen on telling yourself you couldn’t fall in love with him, that you never ever saw the opportunity that the feelings could be mutual.

“Fuck.” His voice is strained at all. “Say something.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“I’m sorry I left that night.”

A pained laugh escapes him. “Fuck. That’s not what this is about.” He shakes his head. “You know what? Forget I said a fucking thing.” He hisses before he turns around on his heels, leaving you behind. And you can’t help but feel as if you showed that you cared too late.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod mwii #cod x reader #angst #ghost x reader #ghost x you #mw2 #ghost angst #light angst #fanfic edit #fanfic #cod fanfic #fanfiction #fanfics #ao3 fanfic #ao3fic #ao3 writer #a03 #fanfic writing #fan fiction #fanfictions

[bunnyreaper]

Also imagine Price getting his wish,his breeding works,but it works TOO well. Reader is pregnant but they are having quadruplets. And we reach that point of pregnancy where we are so OVER being pregnant that we look at him all pouty like: "My back hurts,my feet hurts,my head hurts,I feel heavy,and all I want is pickles,this is all your fault you big meanie" and he just soothes us by massaging our backs and tummies and praising us and whispering in our ear how pretty we look all round and heavy.

"look what you've done to me, john!"

"i don't regret a thing, love."

sbeiehwhahja you should absolutely make him walk behind you and hold your bump so you get some damn assistance from him, some accountability for his fucking super sperm!!

i think he would pamper you though, not let you lift a finger or do a thing since you have so much growing to do for the babies!!!

#bunny mail

[jung-shook-iieee]

Masterlist.

18+. Female reader. Do not copy or repost my work.

DISCLAIMER: My works contains dark content, yandere, dubcon, cnc etc such themes, I also write soft themes but I'm more into dark au's! , so please do read the warnings, genre, tags before diving further into my works.

Second thing, I do not own any bts members. I just write in a form of Fiction and i would never want them to act this way in reality, I also do not encourage cnc, dubcon such heavy topics in reality. There's a line between fictional World and real world please do understand that. <;3

And lastly, it's my second account. Tumblr really sucks, I lost my first acc and I'm starting fresh again, so please do help me by indulging with my blog. 🖤

°°kim Namjoon°°

*Hot wheels

⭃➳Pairings: idol Namjoon x reader (f)

➳ genre: idol verse, relationship au.

➳ summary: teasing namjoon when he goes live could never get you in serious trouble, right?

°°Kim Seokjin°°

* Daddy issues.

⭃Pairing: seokjin x (f) reader.

⭃ (Sugar baby / sugar daddy.)

(" You’re ruining your dress and makeup pretty. ” )

°°Jeon Jungkook°°

* Mine.

⭃Pairing : mob boss jk x chef reader (f)

⭃Genre : oneshot, mafia au, yandere.

(You stumbled upon something you shouldn't have, and now jungkook needs to make sure you stay silent.)

3:15

⭃Pairing : jk x venom x reader (f)

⭃Genre : dark au! , stalking, yandere.

⭃( Jungkook and venom really likes you. )

Regrets

⭃Pairing : jk x rader (f)

⭃Genre : angst, breakup drabble.

(" So this is it then? " You nodded your head with tears filling your eyes. , It is... I never meant to hurt you y/n." He swore and his doe eyes widened when he heard you sob. But you did. You did jungkook. " You whispered. )

°°Min Yoongi°°

⭃On the low

⭃Pairing : assassin yoongi x assassin reader (f)

⭃Genre : oneshot, assassin au, smut.

⭃ Yoongi hates you, but does he?

°° Jung Hoseok °°

➳Thinkin' bout you

➳Pairings: mafia hoseok x reader (f)

➳word count : 6k ( sorry lol)

➳ genre : Cnc smut, oneshot. ( with a little plot.)

°°Park Jimin°°

⭃Darkside part two

⭃pairing : jimin x reader

⭃genre ; arrange marriage au, dark themed. ( 2/2)

⭃summary: after the demise of your father, you were forced to marry a mob boss who was a decade older than you. Jimin has always been ruthless and marrying someone like him wasn't your first choice, but living with him made you crave for his attention. For getting his attention you were repeatedly acting out until one day he decided to take the matter in his own hands.

°° Kim Taehyung°°

➳ anon req drabble.

#bts army #masterpost #masterlist #bts masterpost #bts masterlist

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hi mbtinotes 22yo INFJ here. I recently lost a friend (INTJ) after dating her briefly. After breaking things off, there was a lot of hurt on both sides that we weren't able to reconcile. I ended up blocking her to move on, since then have unblocked but never reached out. This loss has been eating away at me every day since and I can't stop thinking about my mistakes or feeling like a failure. At the same time, I don't think maintaining a friendship was benefitting either of us.

There was a lot of drama over how I handled the breakup, and it was messy since we both still had feelings but she no longer trusted me. I also think we were in somewhat of a codependent relationship and my thoughts about her are obsessive. I constantly wonder what she's thinking and whether or not I can "fix" things despite the damage done. I've always had self esteem issues, social anxiety, and I believe have struggled with depression for a long time.

I know I have good qualities and my friends remind me all the time, but I just don't see myself that way, and I've always struggled with dating and this falling out with my friend has put me even deeper into my issues and made me more aware of them. I still care for her a lot, but I don't know if reconciliation is possible and am afraid of repeating the cycle, and she's villainized me at this point anyway. I honestly have no idea how I'm supposed to build myself up from here.

----------------------

The best way to have healthy self-esteem is to be a person of integrity. It means making decisions primarily from the perspective of your better self, with a view of the bigger picture (Ni). It means doing whatever is necessary to preserve every person's well-being, including your own (Fe). It is never too late to choose integrity. The sooner you choose it, the sooner you can get to a more positive place in life. The path to integrity is a lifelong process of learning how to be the person you're really meant to be.

When it comes to failure, having integrity means owning up to mistakes and learning to do better. The way is: face facts, take full responsibility for everything that was in your hands, and resolve the situation to the best of your ability.

Resolve is not the same as fix. "Fixing" is usually motivated by an egocentric desire to assuage guilt, silence regret, or unload resentment. By contrast, "resolving" should be motivated by care and empathy and a genuine desire to do what is best for everyone involved. Negative feelings must be laid to rest and everyone must be allowed to move on in the most positive way possible. Resolution can be a difficult process and might require several steps, for example:

Contrition: For the sake of learning and personal growth, do a full accounting of all the things you have done that were hurtful, harmful, or morally problematic. Make a list and review the reasons why you engaged in such behavior. Feel your remorse fully, and make a choice to forgive yourself by accepting that you are human and still have much to learn about how to make moral decisions.

Atonement: Issue a detailed and heartfelt apology to everyone who was negatively affected by your behavior. Provide an honest explanation for why you behaved poorly, without making excuses or deflecting responsibility. Ask for forgiveness, recognizing that you are not entitled to it and do not have control over whether it is granted. In your own mind, forgive others their mistakes, for the sake of your own well-being, because you do not want to keep carrying around the heavy burden of a heart poisoned by resentment, anger, or hate.

Closure: Do a full accounting of all the things you appreciate about the person and the relationship you had together, and say thank you to them. Express that you hope the negative experiences won't erase all the positive experiences you've had together. Sincerely wish them the best going forward. Grant everyone the freedom to open a new chapter of life.

Blame is always counter-productive to relationships. Since the relationship is basically beyond repair, continuing to play any kind of blame game (whether blaming yourself or her) is only going to keep you stuck in negativity. It sounds like blame was a significant factor contributing to the breakup, so it's time you learned a better way of handling painful feelings via improving your emotional intelligence. You need to get back in touch with your caring and empathetic side in order to let go of blame and leave the past behind.

You've had many opportunities to end the situation but instead chose to continue it. At some point, you have to make a decision as to whether your energy is better utilized moving backward or moving forward - you can't have it both ways. When you choose to move forward, feelings will fade as time passes, and you'll get better perspective from which to learn important lessons, lessons that will hopefully better equip you for success in future relationships.

Remember that the process of grieving a loss and healing from it cannot begin in earnest until you release yourself from the compulsion to fix and, instead, move toward full acceptance of reality.

#infj #infj relationships #breakup #integrity #acceptance #closure #apology #forgiveness #regret #ask

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

JON SNOW FORTNIGHT EVENT 2023

Day 6 - Shadows of Heroism

“Gared was near as old as I am and longer on the Wall,” he went on, “yet it would seem he forswore himself and fled. I should never have believed it, not of him, but Lord Eddard sent me his head from Winterfell. Of Royce, there is no word. One deserter and two men lost, and now Ben Stark too has gone missing.” He sighed deeply. “Who am I to send searching after him? In two years I will be seventy. Too old and too weary for the burden I bear, yet if I set it down, who will pick it up? Alliser Thorne? Bowen Marsh? I would have to be as blind as Maester Aemon not to see what they are. The Night’s Watch has become an army of sullen boys and tired old men. Apart from the men at my table tonight, I have perhaps twenty who can read, and even fewer who can think, or plan, or lead. Once the Watch spent its summers building, and each Lord Commander raised the Wall higher than he found it. Now it is all we can do to stay alive.”

- Tyrion III, AGOT

This fandom rarely ever acknowledges the skills that got Jon his place as Jeor Mormont’s steward - which subsequently marked him as next in line to lead the Watch. It seems that most people think it was purely because of Jon’s identity as a Stark, which doesn’t seem to track with what we’re actually shown in the text.

Because up until this point, Jon didn’t register in Mormont’s conscious.

Mormont frowned through his thick grey beard. “Snow? Oh, the Stark bastard. I think not. The young ones need to forget the lives they left behind them, the brothers and mothers and all that. A visit home would only stir up feelings best left alone. I know these things. My own blood kin … my sister Maege rules Bear Island now, since my son’s dishonor. I have nieces I have never seen.” He took a swallow. “Besides, Jon Snow is only a boy. You shall have three strong swords, to keep you safe.”

Jon is, as of now, just the Stark bastard. That’s all he is. And Mormont can barely recall him in conversation. As far as the Old Bear knows, Jon is merely a privileged lordling who is yet to earn his place at the Wall. And we must recall the tragedy of Waymar Royce, an inexperienced lad who was thrust into a position of leadership a bit too early - something Mormont deeply regrets.

So what tipped the scales in Jon’s favor?

He told them all of it, even the part where he’d set Ghost at Rast’s throat. Maester Aemon listened silently, blind eyes fixed on the fire, but Chett’s face darkened with each word. “Without us to keep him safe, Sam will have no chance,” Jon finished. “He’s hopeless with a sword. My sister Arya could tear him apart, and she’s not yet ten. If Ser Alliser makes him fight, it’s only a matter of time before he’s hurt or killed.”

Chett could stand no more. “I’ve seen this fat boy in the common hall,” he said. “He is a pig, and a hopeless craven as well, if what you say is true.”

“Maybe it is so,” Maester Aemon said. “Tell me, Chett, what would you have us do with such a boy?”

“Leave him where he is,” Chett said. “The Wall is no place for the weak. Let him train until he is ready, no matter how many years that takes. Ser Alliser shall make a man of him or kill him, as the gods will.”

“That’s stupid,” Jon said. He took a deep breath to gather his thoughts. “I remember once I asked Maester Luwin why he wore a chain around his throat.”

Maester Aemon touched his own collar lightly, his bony, wrinkled finger stroking the heavy metal links. “Go on.”

“He told me that a maester’s collar is made of chain to remind him that he is sworn to serve,” Jon said, remembering. “I asked why each link was a different metal. A silver chain would look much finer with his grey robes, I said. Maester Luwin laughed. A maester forges his chain with study, he told me. The different metals are each a different kind of learning, gold for the study of money and accounts, silver for healing, iron for warcraft. And he said there were other meanings as well. The collar is supposed to remind a maester of the realm he serves, isn’t that so? Lords are gold and knights steel, but two links can’t make a chain. You also need silver and iron and lead, tin and copper and bronze and all the rest, and those are farmers and smiths and merchants and the like. A chain needs all sorts of metals, and a land needs all sorts of people.”

Maester Aemon smiled. “And so?”

“The Night’s Watch needs all sorts too. Why else have rangers and stewards and builders? Lord Randyll couldn’t make Sam a warrior, and Ser Alliser won’t either. You can’t hammer tin into iron, no matter how hard you beat it, but that doesn’t mean tin is useless. Why shouldn’t Sam be a steward?”

[…]

Maester Aemon was gentler. “Is your friend a hunter?”

“He hates hunting,” Jon had to admit.

“Can he plow a field?” the maester asked. “Can he drive a wagon or sail a ship? Could he butcher a cow?”

“No.”

Chett gave a nasty laugh. “I’ve seen what happens to soft lordlings when they’re put to work. Set them to churning butter and their hands blister and bleed. Give them an axe to split logs, and they cut off their own foot.”

“I know one thing Sam could do better than anyone.”

“Yes?” Maester Aemon prompted.

Jon glanced warily at Chett, standing beside the door, his boils red and angry. “He could help you,” he said quickly. “He can do sums, and he knows how to read and write. I know Chett can’t read, and Clydas has weak eyes. Sam read every book in his father’s library. He’d be good with the ravens too. Animals seem to like him. Ghost took to him straight off. There’s a lot he could do, besides fighting. The Night’s Watch needs every man. Why kill one, to no end? Make use of him instead.”

Maester Aemon closed his eyes, and for a brief moment Jon was afraid that he had gone to sleep. Finally he said, “Maester Luwin taught you well, Jon Snow. Your mind is as deft as your blade, it would seem.”

- Jon V, AGOT

It must have been Jon advocating for Sam. He told Aemon how he stood up for Sam and led the other recruits in making sure that he wasn’t excluded. He correctly identified that the Watch needs all sorts of people and comes up with a workable solution for Sam’s inclusion. And given that Aemon is one of the higher ranking officers in the Watch, it’s more than possible that he told Mormont of everything Jon had said and done. And Mormont saw in Jon a man who was quick on his feet, knew how to lead and delegate, and knew how to tackle the Watch’s weaknesses, which are identified by Mormont himself a few chapters earlier.

So Jon proved his worth. He proved that he was a man who could inspire and lead, plan ahead, and take action. Remember that by Jon V (when he becomes steward), he has all but taken control of the Watch’s new recruits and become the de factor master at arms (thereby supplanting the thoroughly ineffectual Alliser Thorne). He has also proven that he has an analytical nature by rightfully acknowledging that the Watch lacks learned men like Sam and he tackles that problem by placing Sam near Aemon thereby ensuring that the Watch will always be served by a learned and skilled maester.

Jon is already thinking like a Lord Commander, and he’s only a few weeks in! He knows the Watch’s weakness and correctly identifies how to bypass them. It’s all the more impressive when we note that this is quite early in his AGOT arc, meaning that his ability to plan ahead was not gained on the fly in A Dance with Dragons, but is a skill that he has always had and was slowly developing over time.

#jon snow #the nights watch #jeor mormont #sam tarly #maester aemon #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #jonsnowfortnightevent2023 #asoiafcanonjonsnow #my stuff

[ktwritesstuff]

Nothing Else Matters (a Triple Frontier shifters AU) Chapter 5

Title: Nothing Else Matters Fandom: Triple Frontier Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Reader x Triple Frontier Boys reverse harem style Word Count: ~2,000 Summary: Things with Santiago reach their boiling point.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 (below cut) | Chapter 6

Content Notes: rough sex, a little d/s with shifter dynamics, etc.

Chapter Five

After three days, Will’s fever finally broke.  Arrangements were made to have Tom’s remains cremated and returned to the states.  And then there was the matter of the money: five million and change.  Split five ways it wasn’t enough to live on even if you spent the rest of your days as misers.  To hear that Santiago’s woman got two million of her own left you seething, but still you put on your best dress and got Luna ready to go to the bank with the others to finish the paperwork.  

You sat at the back of the room as the accountant explained the processes and fees.  Luna cooed and babbled, excited by the novelty of being out of the house for the first time in weeks.  At just over seven months of age, she had a few word-like sounds in her lexicon, like ba-ba and da-da, but you were still waiting in eager anticipation for those bona fide first words.  

When the time came to sign the contracts, Will asked for his share of the money to be included in the trust for Redfly’s family.  You don’t know what you were expecting.  Will saw himself as the noble warrior, doing right by his fallen comrade, but still your eyes went dark.  Of course, Benny followed his brother’s lead, signing away his share of the money as well.

You rose from your seat, approaching the table to stand beside Frankie, balancing his child on your hip as you leered down at him.  He pointedly refused to meet your gaze as he crumpled up his set of paperwork before scrawling his name on the family trust documents.  Luna could tell you were upset, pulling at the neck of your dress to try to get to your breasts.  You pried her hands away and she whined loudly in protest.  

“Are you serious right now?” you moved in front of Frankie as he made his way to the door.

“Don’t,” Frankie warned, stepping around you.  

You let him go, returning your attention to Santiago.

“I hope you’re happy,” you said, looking down at him.  “You destroyed our lives.” 

At the end of the table the accountant cleared her throat, as if reminding you of her presence would persuade you to reconsider the awkward exchange.

If Ironhead were there, he would have torn you a new asshole for challenging Pope in front of an outsider.  Whatever disagreement you had with Santiago was pack business.    

“Shame on you,” you snapped.  

You stormed out of the bank, buckling Luna into her carseat in enraged silence.  Frankie started the car and you rode back to the safehouse in the same heavy quiet.  You regretted that Frankie was hurting, but you didn’t worry about him.  He would come around, he always did.  It was Catfish’s nature to blow up then calm down.  Things would return to normal until the next cataclysmic event.  

More pressing was your realization that Santiago was intent on leaving.  Soon.  That was the only reason he would insist on imploding your relationship with Frankie before Redfly was even in the ground.  He wanted it out in the open before he rendezvoused with his human and her millions.  

Parking the car, Frankie tried to come around to take Luna out of the back seat, but you snarled at him, forcing yourself between him and the car door.  He backed down, trudging up to the house after the others without another word.  

“Come here, baby,” you said, unbuckling Luna and lifting her out of her carseat.  “It’s just you and me against the world, isn’t it.”

You felt like your family was falling apart before your eyes. Santiago would leave again, and then what?  Will and Benny would be useless without someone to give the orders.  Frankie would backslide, God forbid relapse.  If Santiago thought he could just implode your family over out of stubborn self-righteousness and disappear back into the desert, he had another thing coming.  

You put one hand on Luna’s head and pressed your nose into her baby-fine hair, soothing yourself with her sweet milk and powder smell. 

In the house, the boys lingered quietly in the front kitchen, as though the gravity of the past weeks had finally set in.  Tom was gone and so was the money.  Sooner or later, in all likelihood, some very bad men were going to come looking for it.  The person you usually counted on to figure these things out was dead and now there was nothing left but to forge ahead without him.        

“Congratulations, boys,” you announced bitterly.  “You should all be very proud of yourselves.”

“We got Lorea,” Santiago said, leaning heavily on one of the kitchen chairs. 

“Of course,” you mocked.  “After years of training, the best shifters in the world managed to achieve their ultimate goal: killing one guy.  And let’s not forget the consolation prize, a measly five million dollars.”

“It’s enough to take care of Tom’s girls,” Benny said.  

“I am so sick of hearing about Tom’s daughters,” you said.  “Hell, even Santiago’s whore got her cut!”  

You paced the room in agitation.

“What about my daughter?  Who’s looking after her future?  Certainly not her deadbeat father—can’t even be trusted to do the one thing he’s good at.”

It was a cruel thing to say, too cruel, and you knew it.  Frankie shook his head, but said nothing.  It wasn’t him you were trying to provoke anyway.  

“You need to remember your place,” Santiago warned you.

“So do you!”

If it were possible, Santiago’s eyes grew darker.  

“Frankie, take the baby,” he said coldly.

Frankie looked between you nervously.  

“Pope, don’t hurt her,” he said. 

You were almost touched; after everything you had said and done, he was worried about you.

“Take the baby,” Santiago ordered, already stripping off his clothes. 

You scoffed, handing Luna over to her father.

“Oh please,” you said, turning to face Santiago, you could feel the pressure building in your head as your eyes flashed amber.  “I’m not afraid of him–two bad knees and a spinal fusion.  Go ahead, if you still have it in you–”  

Pope hit you like a freight train, but with Ginger roiling so close to the surface, you had shifted before you hit the ground.  In truth, it wasn’t much of a fight.  Just enough to keep up appearances.  Everyone already knew how it would end.  You hadn’t given Santiago much choice.  You had openly defied him in front of the pack.  It was either mark you or kill you and Pope wasn’t so cruel as to do that to Frankie and Luna.  

Ginger submitted as Pope’s jaws clamped down on your shoulder, a careful strike, missing the tender vein in your neck by centimeters.  You cried out, shifting back, Pope naked on top of you.  He grabbed you by the hair, dragging you toward the bedroom, the others watching in anxious silence as he slammed the door behind you.

Santiago threw you onto the bed, climbing over you.  You panted hard, struggling to push yourself up.

“Turn over,” he growled, grabbing you by the waist to flip you onto your back. “You’re going to look at me.”

He pinned both your hands over your head with one of his, taking no time at all to stroke himself to hardness with the other.  You shivered in anticipation.

“If you’re going to act like a bitch, I’ll treat you like a bitch.”  

Santiago pressed into you all at once without hesitation or preamble.  Big enough that you felt yourself tear and whimpered at the stab of pain.    

“Is this what you want?” Santiago growled.  “You want me to take you like a fucking whore?”

Santiago placed one hand over your throat, fingertips squeezing with expert precision. He barely withdrew from you, just stabbed deeper in. The pain didn’t last, hormones raging, the need to submit to your alpha overriding every other instinct.  You moaned, back arching, womb clenching with need.

Santiago’s hands began to roam, groping the soft give of your belly, squeezing your thigh hard enough to bruise.  You moved to hold his face–his dark curls plastered to his forehead with exertion–but he caught your hands and pinned them back on the mattress.

“No.”  

He lowered his face to yours, snarling with fangs bared, but all the hostility was out of him now, replaced by hunger, desire, yearning.  He nuzzled against your face, interlacing his fingers with yours as he rutted into you.  The sick squelching of your eager, creaming pussy barely audible over the blood rushing in your ears.  

“Take it,” Santiago growled, head bowed toward your breasts.  “Take it all.  Or I’ll eat you up.”

A lewd sound escaped your lips as he pinched and pulled your nipples to swollen points.  The animalic scent of your combined arousal pierced by creamy sweetness as your breasts began to leak.  

Santiago took your breasts in his hands, squeezing hard, milk spilling between his fingers. 

“Mine,” he proclaimed, the word a barely intelligible snarl.  “These are mine.  You’re mine.”  

You whimpered, squeezing your eyes closed as he sank his teeth into the flesh of your left breast, sealing his mouth over the sensitive nipple, drinking from you as his pelvis ground into the soft pad of your mound, his back arching.  

Santiago was too lost in his own desire to protest as you moved again. Sliding one hand down his back, drawing him toward you as the snug muscles of your inner walls tightened around him with your climax.  As you moaned, he caught your mouth in a harsh, possessive kiss, his lips still tasting of milk and blood. 

Santiago shuddered with his release, the hard pulse of semen filling you up as the head of his cock swelled inside your already impossibly stretched pussy.  You cried out, quivering with relief as spurt after spurt of hot cum surged against the mouth of your womb.  

Santiago relaxed into you as he finally emptied himself inside you.  He had never been like this with you before: forceful, demanding.  But somehow you knew, he had always had it in him.  You felt a sudden pang of gratitude that he had finally let down his guard for you.  

“Thank you, Alpha,” you murmured, combing your fingers through his hair as he rested his head between your breasts.  “Thank you.”

Pope slept for close to an hour as you rested beneath him, enjoying the pleasant surge endorphins. He stirred slowly, his weight shifting over you as he eased himself out from under the covers.  His eyes fell on the dried bloodstains on the sheets twisted between your legs.

“I hurt you,” he said quietly.

You hummed softly, sitting up in bed. 

“I earned it.”

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper,” Santiago said.  

He went to your medkit on the dresser, cracking open an instant ice pack to tuck between your legs.  The cold felt nice against your swollen heat.  

He doused a clean gauze pad in antiseptic wash and brushed the hair away from your neck to blot at the bite mark on your shoulder, although it had long-since stopped bleeding.

“It doesn’t hurt,” you assured him, your eyes cast down in submission.   

“What do you need?”  Santiago fretted, the gravity of what he had done sinking in. 

Not even Redfly had dared to give you a claim mark–a scar that could been a death blow–a sign for all to see that you were alive by his grace alone.  To abandon you after that would be considered a cardinal sin among wolves, and above all else, Santiago needed to see himself as the hero.  

“Water would be lovely,” you cleared your throat.  “Please, Alpha.”  

Santiago poured you a glass from the pitcher on the dresser and waited patiently at the bedside while you drank to take the glass from you when you were finished.  

“What else?” he asked.

“Luna needs to be fed soon,” you said. 

“Of course. I'll bring her to you,” Santiago agreed, sticking his head out the bedroom door where the others were still gathered in your laughably small living area, pretending they hadn’t heard what had just gone on behind closed doors.  

“Fish, Ginger needs to nurse the baby.  I can take her.”

“No, I got it,” Frankie insisted, pushing past Santiago in the doorway with Luna in his arms.  

Santiago arranged the pillows comfortably around you, placing the densest one in your lap to support the baby.  You brought Luna to your breast and she latch eagerly.

“She’s got a good appetite,” Santiago remarked, stroking her little foot.  

“We haven’t had any problems,” you agreed.  “It’s been a blessing.”  

It had been a hard birth–complicated somewhat by your insistence on laboring at home–everything after had seemed like smooth sailing in comparison.  

“Are you hungry?”  Santiago asked.  “I can bring you something.”

“There’s leftover soup in the fridge,” you said.  “It just needs to be heated up.”  

“I’ll get it ready,” Santiago agreed.

As Santiago rushed off, Frankie paced the room anxiously.

“Please try to relax,” you said, supporting Luna with one arm as you beckoned him to you with the other.  “You’re making me nervous.  Just sit down.”  

“Sit down,” he repeated, lifting his cap to tousle his hair before replacing it, slightly off-kilter.  “Where my best friend just fucked the mother of my child?”

“Don’t say it like that,” you said.  “You make it sound obscene.”  

“How do you want me to say it?” Frankie asked.

“Come here,” you pleaded.  “Just come here.”  

Frankie took a careful seat on the bed beside you, placing a hand on Luna’s head as you took his chin in your hand.

“I love you, Francisco,” you said.  “I chose you.  And I chose Pope.  You knew that it was never going to be just one.  It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

“I know,” Frankie sighed, his large dark eyes wet and shining.  “I just wish you hadn’t done that.”

As much as you assured him that you didn’t care if he took other partners, that you wanted him to explore those parts of himself, Frankie insisted he only wanted you.  You suspected he was still holding out hope that you would marry him one day, but now that hope was marred by knowing he could only have you if Pope allowed it.

“I did what I had to do,” you said.  “He was going to leave us.  I wasn’t going to stand back and let it happen.  I’m sorry you’re upset, but I won’t be held hostage by shitty ultimatums.  I love you.” 

“I know,” Frankie nodded, placing one hand on the back of your neck, bowing his head toward yours.  “I love you, too.”

Santiago returned, a warm bowl in hand, and took a seat on the other side of you to offer you spoonfuls of barley and broth. 

“You’ll have to tell me if it’s warm enough,” he said.  

“It’s good,” you nodded wrapping your lips around the spoon to mask your smile.  “Is there enough for the others?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Santiago assured you.  “You just rest.  I can take the baby for a bit, if you need a break.”

“I’m fine,” Frankie said, leaning into you possessively. 

“Fish,” you warned, touching his face lightly.  “Let Santi help.  You could use a few solid hours of shuteye.  These bags are out of control.” 

“Then it’s settled,” Santiago agreed, setting your dishes aside.  “I will spend some quality time with my beautiful goddaughter and you two will get some sleep.”

Santiago lifted Luna from your arms, her body pliant and relaxed in her milk-drunk state, as he lifted her to his shoulder to rub her back soothingly.  

“Sleep,” Santiago repeated, uncharacteristically light-hearted as he carried Luna from the bedroom, closing the door behind him.  

“You need to undress,” you instructed, reaching for the buttons on Frankie’s shirt.

“It smells like blood,” he protested, reaching to stop your hands.

You pulled him closer, stroking his face and combing your fingers through his hair. Frankie whimpered like a frightened pup, fists balled and muscles taught.    

“It’s fine, Frankie, you’re exhausted.  Just lay down.”

None of the boys had truly recovered from their misadventure, and while Will was still healing from physical wounds, Frankie hadn’t had much opportunity to recover from the psychological trauma between waking up for late-night feedings and diaper changes.  

“Luna is safe.  I am safe.  Relax.”

It took some cajoling, but you finally convinced Frankie to take off his clothes and settle down beside you in bed.  He climbed under the covers and turned onto his side.  Certainly the sheets could use a good wash, but that could wait until after some much-needed sleep.  You rolled over to press your front against his back, hitching your top leg over his hip and drawing him close.  

“This is nice,” you reminded him, slinking an arm around him, resting your hand on his chest.  He entwined his fingers with yours and nodded.  

You breathed slowly, consciously, your breasts pressing into his back and soon you felt his breath grow deeper and more even, the wings of his heart pressing back into you with each rise and fall.

Baby's First Taglist: @hiroikegawa 

#triple frontier fic #shifters au #reverse harem #reader x frankie 'catfish' morales #reader x santiago 'pope' garcia #reader x will 'ironhead' miller #reader x benny miller #pedro pascal #oscar isaac #charlie hunnam #garrett hedlund

[tendertenebrosity]

Confession

Getting a little burned out on the novel, so here is something fun, whumpy and minimally edited, featuring Julien, my old OC.

“All right,” the guard who’d driven the cart said. “I think it’s time. Say your piece.”

The crowd hushed, then stirred and hushed again, like ripples of condemnation spreading across the sea of faces looking up at Julien, where he stood on the dais.

He had already been trying to hold his head up as well he could in the face of the crowd; he made more of an effort. The chains on his wrists clinked - they made it impossible to stand as straight as he would have liked.

“I,” he began, and had to stop to wet his lips. “I am… Julien Monthaith, formerly Julien Caithir. Until recently, self-styled Prince Regent and First of the Council of Chiefs. Known to many of you as the Usurper.”

A murmur ran across the crowd. Well, it’s true, he thought. Did you think I didn’t know you called me that? It stopped hurting me a long time ago. Didn’t it?

He tried not to pick faces out of the crowd. Elene had wanted this to be done at the time when there’d be peak traffic in the square, but he’d probably have drawn people here no matter what hour. Is there not one of you whose life was better under my rule? Not one of you who I helped? Nobody with me to thank for their job, their education, their son or daughter still being alive?

They’d be unlikely to say so, if there was. Not in this crowd.

“I confess. To conspiring with Laithann’s enemies, subverting her laws and her sovereignty, and oppressing her people.” He took a deep breath. “I confess to treason. To betrayal of my family and the rightful heir. My seizure of the throne was unlawful, and the titles I claimed illegitimate. I now pledge my loyalty - completely and unreservedly - to the true and rightful monarch of Laithann, Queen Elene.”

That last part was true. He suspected nobody would really believe it, but it was. Actually all of it was true - he had just left out any lines in which he said he regretted any of it. Perhaps unwise of him, when he’d been given the leeway to write his own words rather than just rattling off whatever confession he’d been given to memorise in his cell.

Faolan had fought hard to save his life, Julien knew. Elene could change her mind just as easily.

Maybe one day you’ll understand, Elene. Of all of us, you surely know more than even me of what they were capable of.

Then again, maybe she wouldn’t. Julien wasn’t sure he could blame her.

The crowd started up again once it was obvious Julien had finished talking. A babble of voices, some of them jeering and angry, some of them almost jubilant.

Not many of those. He was a little surprised - nobody had laughed or cheered at most of the public punishments Julien had been to, but he thought this time would be different.

This time it was Julien.

“All right,” the second guard said. Julien knew her; she’d been a Montaith soldier since she was old enough to hold a sword. “One down, four to go.”

The guards motioned for Julien to come down off the dais, and he came easily, his head held high.

He had a sickening feeling he wasn’t going to be able to keep that up for long, as they fastened the short length of chain between his wrists to a rope behind the cart.

The cart set off, with Julien walking behind it, the Montaith soldier guard a little way behind him.

Oh, they were only going slowly. A walking pace. This was supposed to be humiliating, not lethal. But somehow - when he’d pictured this, in the small hours of the morning - he hadn’t accounted for how tiring this would be after the first street. How heavy and awkward it was with his wrists in chains in front of him.

Even before the gauntlet really started.

How did they decide who got to take part in this bit? He wondered, with a detachment he tried to cling to. Was there a lottery, was it whoever got there first, had they appointed people… surely competition had been fierce.

The first stick that cracked across his shoulders made him stagger, but he kept his feet. Pain in a line across his back, not unbearable, just - striking. Distracting. Enough to make him hiss between his teeth but nothing more. The crowd was weirdly quiet here, too - Julien had always kind of thought there was supposed to be a lot of noise at this sort of thing?

The second - the third -

He fell at the fifth, couldn’t get his feet underneath him fast enough to keep up with the cart. The Montaith guard was quick on her feet though, calling for the cart to stop before he could be dragged far at all, scooping him up off the road.

“Thank you,” he said, dazed, his arms and knees afire, as she steadied him. Like an idiot.

She looked at him like - oh, like he was disgusting. And he was, wasn’t he? That was what all this was about.

He’d done this for them. Hadn’t he? In the beginning. He let his gaze drift, unfocused over the crowd as they started to walk again. Someone stepped forward - he did not look at them - whistle, crack, across his shoulders.

I did it for you. And you hate me.

That’s fine.

-

They didn’t have him walk all of the way around the city. After all, they weren’t trying to kill him. Then again, he thought dizzily on one of the sections when he’d been allowed to climb up into the back of the cart and rest with his head on his folded aching arms, if some overenthusiastic citizen had suspiciously good aim, if the guards were a little too slow in calling a stop to things… what was Faolan going to do about it?

There were five major squares in the city. Julien stood in the centre of each, on a dais or atop steps if there were any. He said the words he’d prepared - project your voice, Julien, what sort of public speaker are you, he thought with vague hysteria at the third stop, with blood seeping through the shoulders of his shirt and the knees of his pants, and his legs trembling. He'd bitten his cheek at the last fall. Not going to command any hearts and minds if you mumble!

The crowd murmured angrily, and swallowed up his speech like an empty cavern with no echoes, and arranged itself behind the lines of people with switches to watch him walk through again.

The Montaith guard - what was her name? He knew it - hauled him up each time he fell, told the other guard to stop the cart and bundled him up into it on the last stretch. He didn’t thank her again. Even if he’d wanted to… he didn’t have the breath or thought to spare for anything but pain.

-

“I… I…” Julien blinked, his vision blurry. His ears roared; was it the crowd? Or just in his head? He couldn’t see them. The crowd he knew was there.

He was supposed to be talking.

Blood was trickling through his hair and down the side of his face; he made a cut-off movement of his hand to try and brush it aside, but the metal around his wrists was so heavy he didn’t get it more than a few inches.

He clung to the arm of the guard shamefully tightly, knowing that if he didn’t he would fall. He had lost count of how many times he had fallen, and it hurt more every time. And the words - he needed to get out the words. What had the words been?

“I am Julien Montaith,” he said, to whoever might be there. “I am… I was… self, self-styled, Prince Regent, and… and… I am the Usurper.” The words he’d repeated to himself in the cell below the palace were gone, and he floundered after them. God, everything hurt. Everything hurt so much.

“And?” she muttered at his side.

“I confess,” he started, and let his head sag. “I’m sorry. I’m trying. I confess - I don’t - I confess to treason, and betrayal, and - and - I seized - I conspired - please, I’m trying….”

Was the crowd roaring still? Had they heard him? It was really important that the crowd heard him.

His knees were jelly. His whole body seemed to throb, in time with the roaring in his ears, except for one long stripe from shoulder to opposite hip that burned no matter what everything else was doing. It felt deep. What had it been? Who had it been?

“Come on,” the guard said, giving him a little shake. It hurt, but he didn’t think she meant it to. She was going in and out of focus. “Nearly done. This is the last time.”

It was? Julien wasn’t certain.

He lifted his head anyway. “I c-confess to the betrayal of Laithann,” he said, the words coming out strained but audible. They were just words, he no longer really understood their meaning; it had seemed really important to him when this had started that he mean it, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. “The titles I… I claimed were not l-lawful or le…legitimate.” This last bit was the most important, wasn’t it? “I pledge… I pledge my loyalty to the true Queen, Elene...”

“There,” the guard at his side said. “Finally. Done.”

“No, it’s not. He hasn’t said it properly,” someone said, distant - the other guard? “That wasn’t what he said at the other stops. It wasn’t what he was supposed to say.”

“Look, I think it’s all we’re going to get,” the guard at his side said. She let go of Julien’s arm - he swayed - slithered down onto his knees on the cobblestones.

Everything was spinning. Everything hurt. He’d said the words wrong. Were they going to make him walk? He could not. He could not walk. He heard the guards arguing quietly over his head, and the dissatisfied muttering of the crowd.

If Julien could have talked, he would have told them just to run him through right here, if they were going to try and make him walk more. Would the crowd finally cheer at that? Or would they just - buzz and roar, like so many bees?

I loved you once, he thought, with difficulty, through the fire raging across his back and his head and his joints. You loved me, once. His mind had shrunk down to just his body, just pain, and something important was behind that thought but he couldn’t think of what it could be.

Evidently the Montaith guard won. They slung Julien’s arms over their shoulders, and loaded him into the cart, and took him home.

Did I say I was sorry? Am I sorry?

I don’t think I am. Still.

#whump writing #public punishment #running the gauntlet #public confession #royalty whump #blood mention #violence #Julien the Usurper

[asherlockstudy]

HEY FRIENDS

Literally one year ago I made a vague post and a few people asked me what I meant, but I felt a little drained at the time and never explained but as GME3 is fast approaching, I am re-emerging with the questionable decision to write my thoughts on GME2. 

Bear in mind that some of the points might be negative as I have explained my conflicted feelings about this show before however don't let that discourage you from reading it because there's more to it than the negative points, trust me. Also, the post is GIF heavy so I put the rest of it under the cut.

GME2 thoughts: 

Rhett and Link can’t tell the difference between an evening show and a soft Only Fans account. I didn’t mind anything in the show (except for that sex doll with the fucked up eyes that creep me out),  I just...don’t understand completely: who came up with this project, how genuinely RandL like it and how it relates to their occasional irritation against shippers. 

In other words, for people who proclaim they don’t understand why people ship them, acting out explicit fanfics is a bold decision to say the least.

Like, the whole concept of the show is for them to drink so their boundaries go down and then when somebody goes a bit off the rails, everyone is like “oh no” and facepalming. What’s up with that? Either embrace the concept of your show or don’t do it at all. I mean, nothing was truly much except for the fanfic enactment which was a bit much, if you ask me, perhaps mostly because I can’t tell how comfortable they are with it. Sometimes, especially Rhett just doesn’t look totally okay with it. So why do it? For the extra fee? Really? Wow. As an example, neither Rhett nor Link felt okay with sucking Chase’s toes and, guess what, Chase didn’t want it either. Who’s the mastermind behind all that... And has Chase gotten his raise yet?

Let’s go to Rhett. I might be wrong but I have noticed that for his size, Rhett is kinda a lightweight. One beer and his eyes are glassy, his cheeks round and red. In the last GME, he had refrained from drinking because he wanted to handle the situation in case Link lost it. This time, 7 shots and a few more drinks during the show weren’t enough to make him drunk, or as drunk as Link, or make him lose himself into the moment and have fun. Conclusion: Rhett is not very comfortable with this project. Rhett is afraid of Link being unhinged. Why is he afraid of an unhinged Link? What can Link say or do that Stevie wouldn’t be able to handle and he would have to step in? It’s plain throughout the show that Rhett is constantly concerned about what Link might say next. What on earth can a Southern ex-hardcore Evangelist married at 20 say that is giving Rhett nightmares?

 Rhett confirming that Link does the fibonacci when he shaves his face lol Do they often talk about fibonacci shaving? Does he remember it from 20 years ago? How often does Link shave in the creative house? Questions, questions, questions...

Rhett fully knowing that Link had a story about hurting his dick. Link clarifying he meant one when he was alone. Rhett warning him “I am just looking out for you”. Thus, Rhett knowing Link hurt his dick when he was with somebody else and considered it a story that Link would regret revealing. So, is Rhett having nightmares because Link hurt his dick when he was with Christy and if so, why? No??? Notice Rhett getting lowkey tortured until Link finally wraps up his silly harmless story. He lost five years of life there. 

Link saying he wishes his Christy buttcheek tattoo faded away... because “this would symbolise the long time they have been together”. Okay... all right.

 Rhett confirmed as an ass man besides a vagina man. Like, just as he was saying he was always so fascinated by vaginas he almost gave them supernatural qualities, he now pretty much said the asshole is divine design! Link bumped Rhett’s shoulder at the mention of anal preference, pointing at him, once more giving Rhett a scare. (BTW the truth is Rhett is an #anything_goes man let’s be real XD)

Link non-verbally proclaimed them both “team ass” but not with Rhett’s consent. 

Link said at two points in the aftershow that Rhett made him uncomfortable but I can’t for the life of me understand what he was talking about and it seems Rhett did neither. There was probably something that flew over my head entirely...

That’s just funny but Link in the end saying “After fucking all these years, we’re still surprising your ass”. This is not even a Freudian slip, this is a Freudian syntax! Next level shit XD Meanwhile Rhett: 

#When ten drinks are not enough to save you from Link's syntax

And now let’s go to the sequence I was referring to in the previous (one year old) vague post:

The Bean daddy fic enactment was initially a thing of cuteness, indeed, but I have the suspicion there was more going on. Let’s see it step by step.

The cute thing started because Link somehow played the role of tentative Link shyly revealing his deeper feelings with exceptional skill. It was also cute when Rhett, while still impersonating fic!Rhett basically implored Link to not drop chocolate syrup on his clothes, hair and beard. He was having fun with it and he was being flirtatious and affectionate towards Link, though, again he was still supposedly imitating his fic version.

Link received passively Rhett’s flirty show, with moderate amusement. However, it is very important to note that he was nodding affirmatively throughout Rhett’s flirty request. He had a face saying “okay, I understand, I am not gonna drop the chocolate all over you”. That's important to keep in mind.

Notice how Rhett asks Link to take care how he'll pour the syrup in character while Link is amused but also nods affirmatively that he does not intent to screw Rhett's outfit.

As soon as Rhett trusts Link won’t screw him like that, he drops his head back and opens his mouth waiting for the chocolate syrup. Then Link tells him seriously to hold on, he immediately changes to a sexy imitation of Rhett’s open mouth, saying something like “I just want to acknowledge…” Rhett raises his head, “Yess???”, still in the flirty silly mood, probably believing Link is improvising within the fic’s context. But Link says: “Don’t assume the position just yet, because I would like to respond to that”. At this point, clearly Link doesn't follow the script. Rhett waits but he is still in the flirty amused mode. Link does this characteristic hand motion which means something very clear “All jokes aside, I want to talk about something serious now”. Rhett takes note of Link’s hand gesture but he still doesn’t drop his flirty persona. Link announces to Rhett: “This is a test.” Rhett is clearly too far gone enjoying the fic enactment. He nods without clearly understanding. “This is a test…”, he agrees, nodding, until finally his brain catches up. “………of whaaaaat?”, he asks half-fic like, half-suspicious.

Notice Link's serious gesture and Rhett becoming suspicious literally mid-sentence after Link says "this is a test".

Link starts to mouth something but immediately changes it and says slowly and cautiously: “Of my ability to be your true friend”. Rhett’s amusement is gone. He dismisses Link hastily, mumbling “I believe it” and assumes the position again. Link insists though, inching closer. “Because…”, he starts. Rhett immediately closes his mouth and turns to face Link alarmed. It seemed to me he felt vulnerable to wait there with an open mouth and Link so close.

Notice Rhett dismissing Link and how quickly he closes his mouth once Link gets closer.

Link continued slowly, trying to fill the lack of words with facial expressions translatable only to Rhett and not us. “Because… the most entertaining thing to do… would be…”. “No, no it actually wouldn’t be”, Rhett countered quickly and still somewhat softly but there was fear and panic in his eyes in that moment. My assumption is that he was still being soft in order to not rile up the mildly inebriated Link too much. Rhett continued: "It would be the opposite of what you're actually thinking".

Link tries to communicate with faces (including puckered lips) instead of fully formed sentences but Rhett understands. He's neither flirty nor amused anymore. He asserts what Link thought to do - the test, "the abilty of being his true friend", would have the exact opposite result from entertainement.

Link doesn't drop it just yet. He asks Rhett if he really knows what Link is thinking about. Rhett hums affirmatively. But Link says: "Cause I was thinking about being the hero by just putting it in your mouth and not getting it all over you. But now you are just telling me to get it all over you." Of course this is a lie. Rhett spent so much time making it clear he does not want syrup all over himself. Link nodded so many times, making it clear he understood and agreed. He made the gesture meaning "I am gonna talk about something different and more important". So, the test that he wanted to acknowledge that this whole skit was about was something different. But in the end he saw how negative Rhett was to the idea and quickly twisted his statements, now saying it was all about whether he would drop the chocolate on his...true friend or not, which makes no sense whatsoever as statements go and it is redundant, since it was established and agreed upon literally seconds before that he would not do it.. Rhett says something I can't catch, like "no, I know what you were thinking" or "no, you won't do what you're thinking" or something similar. Link then repeats in his twist of words that Rhett essentially urges him to drop the chocolate all over him and he has that rabid look he sometimes has near Rhett. Rhett then, again with his mouth open, says: "Okay, it's time. We've milked this moment enough". Rhett clearly tries to bring Link to his senses and avoid this moment lingering too much in people's memory.

Link is bummed at Rhett's refusal however not "wounded type" of bummed. I guess it was more like, tipsy Link threw an idea out there, Rhett reacted poorly to it and Link was done like "okay it's on you that this test won't happen" but then got on with everything without more drama.

What was that test?

Well, repeating Link's words:

I would just like to acknowledge... This is a test. Of my ability to be your true friend. The most entertaining thing to do... would be...

Does anyone know whether there was more in this fic? Perhaps something more in it that Link wanted to acknowledge but Rhett didn't want enacted?

Maybe what Link wanted to test as "potentially the most entertaining thng to do" was his initiative alone? And it would be proof of Link being Rhett's true... friend. And Rhett knew what Link had in mind but he was adamant that it would have the exact opposite effect on the audience than what Link expected.

Hmm. I leave you to your thoughts and your mental preparation for GME3.

#rhink #rhett and link #randl #r&l #gme #gme2 #good mythical evening #mythical