#Mutually Assured Destruction

[rivke-comics]

I guess this is a series now? Braid the Princess or something idk

Anyway this time the Damsel’s doing the hair of the Apotheosis! She probably has perfect hair already, but come on, the Damsel just wants to make her happy

Also the Arms Race/Mutually Assured Destruction

It has occurred to me that not all the princesses have hair. Feel free to reblog or comment with any ideas on how she can join the fun!

First Next

[khloxxy]

[kalashnikovlobotomy]

it's the right way, in the wrong direction!

[nullphysics]

[doctordragon]

Can't believe STP fires off 2 of the best lines in the game back to back. Nothing like seeing razor route the first time and hearing

"Behold! The perfect woman"

"Maybe we could throw *her* out the window"

What a fucking double whammy

[temerity14]

Can't believe Ezran invented MAD

[arealphrooblem]

Mutually Assured Destruction Part 11 -- The End!

This is the last part everyone! I may right little snippets after this one if the inspiration strikes, but this is the definitive end to the series.

Synopsis: Villain x Civilian. Civilian can sense other people's powers through auras but hides this ability. They are terrified of the most boring person at their office job, who hides the most powerful aura Civilian has ever felt.

CW: Mentions of death, low self-esteem thoughts, brief vague mention of sex at the end, two kisses

Part One Here

Part Ten Here

At first, they thought he was sick. Jonathan didn’t ever give them a cell phone number, so they couldn’t call and check on him. By Wednesday they drove round for three hours after work, trying to find the neighborhood that housed his apartment, with no luck. By Friday, worry stayed a constant pit in their stomach.

Monday morning brought the news that Jonathan had “transferred” to another in another part of the country. Civilian had to suffer all day through the cloying sympathy of their coworkers. Gloria had even hugged them. Everyone assumed a breakup occurred so horribly awkward that it drove Jonathan to move several hundred miles away a week before the holidays.

For the rest of December, Civilian kept up religiously with the news, looking for something big enough to fit the plans Jonathan had hinted at — massive art theft, large scale arson, hell even a government coup.

There was nothing save for constant Christmas ads that Civilian tuned out.

Eventually they had to accept the truth that Jonathan had just got the fuck out of dodge and didn’t look back. Fine. Civilian knew their ‘relationship’ had an expiration date, that it had never existed in the first place. But they had expected some kind of goodbye, even if it had been a threat to stay quiet — not this slipping away in the dead of night like a ghost.

Maybe his plans fell through and he had to leave before someone else discovered him. Maybe the Agency had found him despite his best efforts and he had to abandon everything. Both scenarios were more likely than the one echoing cruelly in Civilian’s head at night:

That they had driven him away; that he couldn’t take their needy loneliness anymore and bounced.

It’s a thought that hounded them for the next six months, followed them as closely and loyally as their own shadow. As the weeks drifted by, Civilian burrowed further and further inside themselves, rejecting offers from Gloria to eat lunch, rejecting their mother’s requests to call or visit, rejecting drinks after work with the other members of their department.

It wasn’t that Jonathan broke their ability to trust anyone — it was the stubborn, naive belief that if Civilian chose to be alone then they weren’t lonely, that it didn’t count because it was self-imposed, a choice, a preference. And being around other people reminded them so sharply of feeling not alone that they couldn’t handle its absence once the night was over.

The whole thing was ridiculous, and Civilian berated themselves at each night for it. They were acting childish and silly. Jonathan was right: the only thing stopping them from having friends was their own fear. They could find a new job, move to a new city, find a place where Jonathan had never set foot in and build anew.

But they didn’t.

And six months later, the bank went under.

Ironically, the one thing Civilian needed to watch the news for, they had ignored in favor of a Buzzfeed shopping list. Their mom had sent a text with a link to a video and a series of question marks.

Isn’t this your bank????

The video explained how the entire board of directors had been arrested for fraud and embezzlement to the tune of billions.

Billions with a B.

After that number, Civilian’s attention went a little fuzzy. The explanation of the complex series of fund transfers and shell corporations and blah blah blah faded to the background as Civilian tried desperate to work out just how the hell Jonathan made it happen.

Over the weeks, each man screamed his innocence of course, but camera footage and witness testimonies — even ones from the other board directors, all eager to stab each other in the back — denied those claims. Each director passed a psych test with flying colors, despite their protests of their body moving with out their consent. It all looked very much like a bunch of disgustingly wealthy men got caught trying to illegally make themselves even more disgustingly richer.

After a certain point, Civilian could have spoken up about Jonathan, and no one would have believed them anyway.

It was the perfect crime and now Jonathan was walking out there will several billion dollars in his pocket and Civilian . . .

Well Civilian was now out of a job, living off a pathetic severance package, and trying to find a solution to their problem that did not involve moving back in with their mother.

It happened in the middle of the night. The ear-popping pressure of a powerful aura dragged them from sleep. In the soft darkness of their bedroom, they could just make out a shadowy figure looming over them.

In seconds confusion crystalized sharply into fear. Civilian’s hands dove under the pillow for the knife they kept there and yanked it out. Their hand froze in the air, gripped by invisible fingers Civilian knew all too well.

“Did you just pull a fucking knife on me?” The figure asked incredulously.

The familiarity of his voice hit them like a physical ache, like a thumb on a bruise.

“Jonathan?”

The lamp switched on, bathing the room in a dim glow. Civilian squinted and blinked against the sudden light. Standing there, eyebrows raised and dressed in all black, was Jonathan Anderson.

The knife gleamed between them. He glanced between it and Civilian and shook his head.

“You should give me that before you hurt yourself.”

He took the knife gently out of their forcibly relaxed fingers and set it on the nightstand, far out of their reach.

Their chest was a swirling maelstrom of too many emotions to count — joy and fear and anxiety and relief.

But most of all anger.

How dare he just show up after ten months of nothing.

“You should go fuck yourself,” they retorted, sitting up and swinging their legs over the side.

“Awww, Civilian, did I upset you by leaving?” He gave them a mocking frown. “Did you miss me?”

The truth of his words pierced them, sending a hot flush of humiliation up their neck.

“No, I did not miss you, you sick on of a bitch — ”

Jonathan bent down, cupping their face in his hands and cutting them off with a fierce, almost desperate kiss.

“I missed you,” he breathed. “So fucking much.”

Civilian’s heart pounded like thunder in their ears. How often did they daydream this kind of moment happening, and yet now that it was here, they couldn’t help but doubt it. It felt dangerous to believe it.

“How am I supposed to believe that?” they demanded. “For all I know, you could be here to kill me and — and tie up loose ends.”

Jonathan had the gall to laugh. “Where do you think we are — a mobster movie? Do you think I’m going to tie cinder blocks to your legs and throw you off the pier?”

“You wouldn’t need the cinder blocks to make sure I drowned,” they said mulishly. “You wouldn’t even need a pier. You could make me smother myself right now with my own pillow.”

Why they were arguing this, they had no idea. Perhaps stubbornly clinging to the belief that he didn’t care about them protected them from hope. Jonathan’s grin faded into something more somber as he studied them. Then he slowly sank down on one knee before them, putting him at just under eye level.

“Why would I come here to kill you after everything I’ve done to protect you?”

“Protect me? Is that what you calling taking off with no goodbye like I didn’t mean anything?”

“Tell me, Civilian, how suspicious it would have looked if I had stolen all that money and then skipped town? How many people would be scrutinizing the newest hire that suddenly disappeared and anyone who associated with him? How long before the Agency would come sniffing around, looking for someone with my skill-set, and find you and your glorious little secret? Hmm? Tell me.”

Civilian glared at him and his tight, unbeatable logic. How dare he make sense.

“Some warning would have been nice,” they said instead, crossing their arms. “I thought I had — that you ran because — ”

They couldn’t finish the thought, it was too embarrassing. How stupid they had been, obsessing over a silly kiss, when Jonathan was executing such grand larceny on an unheard of scale. Like he had even spared it a second thought.

He gave them a knowing, crooked smile. “You thought I took off because you kissed me and I flipped out.”

“No,” they lied. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It is ridiculous,” he agreed. “It’s the one thing that made it hard to leave in the first place. And I couldn’t let you know, in case someone did question you. You were my insurance, not my accomplice.”

The one thing that made it hard to leave. Staying angry at Jonathan was getting more and more difficult. Civilian tried to hold onto it, but it slipped through their fingers like an eel.

“So the bank . . .that really was you?” they asked.

This time his smile widened into a full smirk. “Beautiful, wasn’t it?”

“Beautiful? It fucked over a lot of people — including me! I’m out of a job now, you prick.”

He shrugged. “People will move on just like they always have. As for you . . .that’s why I’m here.” He reached out and traced the pad of his thumb down their jawline. “To spirit you away.”

Civilian fought and failed to hold back a shiver at the light touch. “You mean kidnap me.”

“It’s only kidnapping if you don’t volunteer for it,” he said. “You’re being very stubbornly angry with me. You must have missed me quite a bit.”

They swallowed thickly. “I hate you,” they lied.

He smile, soft and gentle, his thumb swiping over their bottom lip. “You wish you did.”

Civilian’s pulse fluttered. They wanted very badly to kiss his thumb, his hand, anywhere they could reach. “And where would you take me?” they whispered instead.

Jonathan turned his hand so the back of his knuckles brushed over their cheekbone. “Where do you want to go? I have more money than God, Civilian. We can go anywhere in the world and disappear and never have to look over our shoulders again. What say you to that?”

“What happens if I say no?”

As tempting as his offer was, they had to ask the question, regardless. His answer determined everything.

“You will never have to see me again,” he said, taking his hand away. “And I will find a way to anonymously give you enough money to do whatever you wish in a way that can’t be traced. With me or without me, you will have the same freedom from the Agency that I do. I had planned for that for a long time.”

Whatever resentment for their months alone evaporated in an instant. This time Civilian took his face in their hands and kissed him, long and fierce.

“Take me to Greece first,” they said. “I want to see the ruins.”

Taglist: @those-damn-snippets@heroes-villains-side-blog@anonymousewrites@follow-me-into-the-fog@sunnyside-world, @rivalriotrenegade@trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room@midnightsillusions@villain-obsessed-word-nerd@deflated-bouncingball @pickleking8 @cesspitoflove@to-sneak-away-and-hide@im-a-wonderling@hasel-anne@ghostly-writer@moonknight-s-cumdump@valiantlytransparentwhispers@galactic-squiddo@boomimhere@organizedchaos03@dungeon-roomba@vidiaka@powerflower119 @cbiom @meltedgallium@skevethefool@sarcasticlittlebook@lisapicklemagick@dragonfirephoenixflame, @royalmuffinsworld@sillypeachduck

[a-very-sparkly-nerd]

Anyway when I was a freshman my geography teacher really liked the way i explained MAD (mutually assured destruction) and now if I ever need to explain it again i shall be going "well, let's say your home was destroyed. By, say... a bitchy dragon. And you want to nuke god..."

[birdmitosis]

💔 for the chapter 3 princesses?

💔 An angsty headcanon

Like Tower before Her, Apotheosis cannot really emotionally connect to individual people, but while Tower would be unhappy and lonely if She never had people around Her at all, Apotheosis has trouble with that. Individuals are just so small, even if they wanted to get near Her. The Protagonist would be the only one who could ease that for Her; without him, Apotheosis really is a supremely lonely god.

Den can still hear the cabin and the basement -- Her cage, Her pit -- talks to Her. It's why She's starving, malnourished. It tells Her that She deserves it after what She did.

Eye of the Needle, if Adversary progresses to that point, is far less capable of being able to readjust to a more normal life. She has gotten to a point where She constantly feels unsatisfied by never having the fight She was denied. She might not be forever doomed to that, but She may fall into the trap of eternally searching for it.

Fury's rage is stoked by a severe self-loathing. She hates what She has become and hates the Protagonist for turning Her into it. Without the Protagonist around, that rage is still there, but Her self-loathing eats at Her more. She is less than what She was, She thinks, and She can never get it back. She was denied that. She takes this to mean She can never be better, so She embraces being worse even though She doesn't want to. (As a less angsty headcanon, this makes me think She might get along with Witch/Thorn/that version of Wild.)

Burned Grey remembers trying so hard to accept the Protagonist destroying what few small desires She had: to leave the cabin with him, and to not die. She tried to accept his decision, even with tears in Her eyes, but now She accepts Her desires fully even if they hurt both Her and him. She would, I think, be the vessel most upset about never being allowed Her wish in the end if not for the full understanding that seems to come with reuniting with the Shifting Mound.

Drowned Grey cannot emote and cannot quite access Her own emotions in Her death. Unlike the Burned Grey, where the dry heat that consumes the entire Construct is an expression of Her desire to burn it all down and destroy it all -- which She fully feels and is aware of -- the constant rain in the Drowned Grey's route is Her sorrow fully externalized. She can't cry and She can't even quite feel like She wants to cry anymore, but the Construct itself weeps. She thinks that drowning the Protagonist is making him feel how She choked on Her own blood... It isn't, but She does want him to feel and understand Her: the emotions She can no longer access, She needs him to be fully faced with Her sorrow at being betrayed, at not being trusted, at not being understood.

Moment of Clarity is as broken down as the Protagonist and any of his voices. They are not the only ones who have done all of this over and over and over and over and over again, after all. And they have all exhausted every other option before finally freeing Her solely because they can no longer avoid it. They can no longer do anything else. The tender moment She shares with the Protagonist is almost despite Herself... He is finally, finally letting Her out and it almost looks like he made the choice to do so. She can almost pretend he made the choice to do so. But he tried so hard to put it off until choices just didn't exist for either of them anymore, didn't he?

Thorn still has so much Witch in Her. This isn't the headcanon; it's obvious if you choose literally any of the options other than finally freeing Her. My headcanon is that She would, of course, sometimes continue to backslide into being more like Witch in negative situations. And She would hate it. There'd be a lot of uncertainty in Her still if She could actually be better, if She wasn't still the worst.

Networked Wild, if She could actually escape like that -- even with the Protagonist and the voices -- would still always feel incomplete and too afraid to ever risk looking at and facing what She'd done, what they had done, and what it might mean for all of them. They would probably always be doomed to fall apart at some point.

Wounded Wild feels incomplete, even if She will always feel grateful for the kindness, empathy, and companionship She receives "despite" being incomplete. Maybe She can work past that eventually, but it will take her a long time, and also a long time to really feel okay facing who and what She had been and done. (Again, a slightly less angsty headcanon, but I think this means Wounded Wild-from-Beast would get along well with Thorn.)

Wraith wants so, so badly to be able to heal Her relationship with the Protagonist and to forgive him and the voices. She wants it so badly She can't let herself realize it. The one moment She allows herself to is when, if they toss themselves and Her into the abyss, She asks "WHY DO YOU HATE ME?" Her laughter that follows is at Herself for Her folly.

SPECIAL CASES:

Arms Race/No Way Out doesn't know how to be anything other than a weapon, doesn't know how to do anything other than hurt the Protagonist. Doesn't know how to want anything else. She is joy in Her purpose, but She is nothing outside of it. She likes him, yes, but She doesn't know what to do with it. She is -- ironically, given the name of the alternate Chapter IV -- empty, maybe even more so than the Deconstructed Damsel.

Mutually Assured Destruction/Empty Cup panics because She does not know how to be anything other than what She is. If She steps out into the unknown -- if She changes -- what is She? Is She nothing if She is not the one who hurts the Protagonist? All She can do when Her armor and sharp edges crumple and strip away is to put Her heart in his hand and trust that he will be able to lead Her to what comes next.

Stranger doesn't have a Chapter III at all, but so They aren't left out entirely: what happened shook Them all up really badly at first. It wasn't just Harsh, Neutral, and Soft all pleading with the Protagonist at the end of their chapter, but Emo and even Monster as well.

[juneofbones]

My favorite ship dynamic is terrible person x terrible person

[rivke-comics]

Looks like they figured it out! I loved the suggestions I got and included as many as I could:

- Eye of the Needle tries to bend MAD!Razor’s blades (excellent name btw)

- Also I put some ribbons on her

- Got some braided bracelets on her arm

Anyway please let me know who you’d like to see next! I will not rest until all at least five princesses have had their hair done

First Previous

[itsallpoliticsstupid]

Just watched Threads

And I can't help but feel the BBC put it on TV for a reason considering the current issues in the Middle East and Ukraine.

For those who don't know, Threads is a 1984 British Apocalyptic War drama film. It's a dramatic account of a nuclear war and it's effects within Britain, specifically Sheffield. It's starts with an escalation between the Soviet Union and America over Iran.

It's horrifying. Simple. It is horrifying.

The scene that really stuck with me was the two friends in a pub talking about the escalations in the Middle East and one of them simply saying, there's no point in worrying because they can't do anything about it.

Essentially, they're powerless.

And that is just so true, and how I feel about the world right now.

Sometimes the world feels like it's teetering on an edge. Especially when everyday you see further escalations in the Middle East. And then there are the constant threats from Russia to 'bomb the UK' just because we are involved in the war in Ukraine (thankfully these seem to have died down a little), you just hope that those in charge would never take the course of action to start a nuclear war.

There's a term for it, Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD) and sometimes I do wonder if the world will end with a nuclear fallout.

If you do want to be terrified (and are in the UK) definitely give it a watch.

[mollyrolls]

oh btw u were right stc yn and seven are best friends (canon)

[abiggerphrooblem]

Five Times Jonathan Was a Gentleman

Synopsis:

“When have you ever been a gentleman?” they whined anyway.

His eyes flashed with another predatory look. “You have no idea how many times I’ve been a gentleman.”

-- Mutually Assured Destruction, Part 10

All the times Jonathan had very impure, ungentlemanly thoughts about civilian.

CW: Explicit thoughts about sex, some dark fantasies that edge into dubcon.

Part one

Jonathan was considered many things: utterly ruthless, mercurial, manipulative, greedy, paranoid. All traits society considered despicable and he considered necessary for survival. But one thing he and society could agree on was the importance of being a gentleman.

There was a distinct difference to him in hurting someone for kicks and hurting someone because it was necessary. And just because he was willing to do the latter didn’t mean any other time he couldn’t value manners and decorum.

But Civilian tested that theory ever since the first moment they spoke.

Of course, he had noticed Civilian long before the elevator ride. He noticed how much they noticed and yet no one noticed them. They had the exact unassuming, quiet aura he tried so hard to project, slipping underneath everyone’s attention. And yet Jonathan did not slip underneath theirs.

It drove him a little mad trying to figure out the reason why, assessing his behaviors, his look, his clothes, for any hint to his true nature. But he had never even spoken so much as a “good morning” to Civilian. They had no reason to avoid him and yet took great pains to do so.

It made that confrontation in the elevator so much sweeter for it.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re doing here and I don’t want to know. If I tell anyone about you, it will blow my secret too. So just . . . let me stay out of your way?” Civilian pleaded, the sweet sound of his victory. “Please?”

Having  Civilian backed against the wall, feeling the jackrabbit beat of their heart, the breath stuttering in their lungs, the blood racing through their veins, he had a very ungentlemanly thought flare up in his mind.

He wondered what would happen if he leaned his body against theirs and kissed them. If they would let him, too afraid to stop him. If they would whimper, the sound vibrating in their throat.

If they would kiss back, pliant as putty against him.

A ridiculous thought, honestly, not to mention a little disturbing. He was a ruthless bastard, yes, but even he had limits of the kind of tactics he used for intimidation.

And yet, when he opened his mouth again, the offer of a date came spilling out, unprompted and unplanned. Of course, after his split second of horrified shock, he spun into a perfectly logical plan, so airtight he almost fooled himself.

That evening he paid for dinner, let them set the pace and boundaries for conversation, and escorted them to their car, because he was a gentleman. Deep down. In his own way.

He couldn’t stop himself, though, from teasing them about a goodnight kiss. Just as he couldn’t stop himself from imagining that wide-eyed flush on their face as he took that good night kiss.

Part Four

Did he enjoy horror movies about vampires and demons and other impossible creatures? Absolutely — ever since he was a kid. But watching Civilian squirm in their seat as they ripped the napkin to shreds proved far more entertaining.  Just as watching them take in Rothke for the first time, Jonathan found himself rather mesmerized with their reactions.

At work Civilian tried so hard to pass as a boring, timid little mouse. They hid all the best parts of themselves — their wit, the spark of their anger, their bravery. And now, every Saturday, Jonathan looked for more and more ways to uncover vibrant parts of Civilian, like digging for gems in a coal mine.

He could feel the artificial fear coursing through them. Their heart leaped with each jump scare, their blood pounded with the thick anticipation of the monster on screen. Sometimes they even forgot to breathe until Jonathan sent their lungs stuttering as a reminder. He could even feel their teeth grin in their clenched jaw.

They felt so alive.

It took nearly a half hour before their self-restraint broke and they screamed at the sight of long black tentacles bursting through someone’s chest. Jonathan felt merciful, so he traced his fingertips lightly over their inner wrist, reveling in the pounding rush of their blood, before tangling their fingers together.

“Should we leave early, before you wet yourself?” he found himself murmuring against their ear.

They shuddered, spine trembling, teeth biting against their bottom lip.

Fascinating, he thought.

“Why did you pick this movie?” they hissed, sounding like an angry cat.

“Maybe that’s my power — I’m not afraid of things that aren’t real,” he retorted, making sure to brush his lips against their ear as he did so.

“Maybe your power is being an obnoxious prick,” they muttered, scrunching further down in their seat.

He wondered if they would shiver again if he bent down and pressed his lips against their ear, if the tip of his tongue darted to trace the curve of it. Or would they just bite their lip harder as he traveled down their neck, scraping teeth over their pounding jugular and feeling the flush bloom in their bloodstream.

What would it take to get them to gasp, knowing they were in public surrounded by a hundred people? Sucking hard at the junction of their neck and shoulder. Licking a stripe back up to their jaw? Murmuring low in their ear exactly what he could do to them in the back of the theater while everyone stayed distracted?

He’d never know, of course. He was a gentleman.

Part 5

The truth had to come out sooner or later. As much as he enjoyed their little guessing game, it couldn’t last forever. He had to admit he got uncharacteristically angry at their clear dismissal of his power. As if he were one of the dime a dozen telekinetics on the street corner moving pennies and bending spoons for spare change. As if being one those telekinetics wouldn’t have made his life infinitely more bearable. 

He may have lost control of some of his perfect self control revealing to Civilian just exactly the kind of person they were dealing with. Their heart fluttered like a bird beneath his power, moving more and more sluggishly as he slowed it down and then thrashing as he sped it up. 

There was nothing more intoxicating than having someone completely at his mercy. It satisfied the darkest parts of his mind, as did the sudden vision of pressing Civilian further against the rock and kissing them until they couldn’t know if their lack of breath came from his power or his touch. He could slip into their jeans and their synapses and make them come uncontrollably while they shivered against him, fear and arousal mingling into a maddening cocktail. 

Those thoughts evaporated when Civilian collapsed to their knees. That was when he realized he may have gone too far. He stood by his reasons -- Civilian’s cavalier attitude was dangerous to them both and he had grown rather fond of them. It would be a shame to have to kill them to protect himself and his interests. 

But perhaps he shouldn’t have played with their heartbeat. 

“ . . .Civilian?”

Now, he could feel the symptoms of their panic attack gripping their body. Worry fluttered in his chest. What if they had a weak heart already? Fuck, what if he caused their heart attack right here?

Kneeling down beside them, he took hold of their heart and lungs, smoothing out the staccato jerks of their pulse and breath. 

“Breathe, Civilian,” he murmured. 

What was wrong with him, comforting Civilian so soon after threatening them? He should have left them on this mountain top. He should have killed them in their car that night in the elevator. 

Instead his thumbs reached out to wipe the tears from their cheek, almost as if someone else was piloting  him. His powers tilted their chin up to look at him, as if he needed reassurance. 

“I’m not getting out of this alive, aren’t I?”Civilian whispered. 

Guilt left a sour taste in his mouth. He didn’t feel it often, had made it a habit not to in fact. Now it twisted in his gut like a snake. Civilian shook at his feet, having no idea how much power they had in their hands over Jonathan’s future. How much fear they cultivated in him. 

“That depends on you,” he said, trying to be kind. It wasn’t their fault he didn’t trust anyone. It wasn’t their fault that he  picked their bank to work at, that he noticed them despite their best efforts to hide. 

“I like you, Civilian,” he admitted. It wasn’t even a half lie or an obscured truth. “I have no desire to hurt you. But I have a goal I must complete and no one can get in my way, not even you. If you don’t fear me, you may feel emboldened to do something stupid and reckless and heroic. And then I would have to kill you. Do you understand?”

They nodded and relief broke inside him. Civilian would go home, sleep this off, and they could resume the comforting routine of their false relationship.  And maybe Jonathan would sleep better, no longer worried about Civilian running their mouth to the wrong people. 

“Good.”

He offered them a hand and they took it, to his surprise. They swayed on their feet, rising too soon. Jonathan steadied them with an arm around their waist the urge to kiss them again flashed like a camera bulb in his head. A soft kiss, sweet and reassuring with just enough filth to distract them from their fear.

“Civilian?” he murmured, unsure of what he was even asking. His face leaned closer to theirs an inch or two, without even thinking. A stray tear glittered in the corner of Civilian’s eye, sparking the harsh reminder of what he had just done to them. 

A kiss would not fix this. 

“Shall we head back?” he asked instead.

He was a gentleman, after all. 

Part Eight

The guilt on the mountain could not possibly compare to now, with Civilian dead asleep on his couch, fighting off a high grade fever because of him. Because their fear over what he might do to them overpowered the sane decision to stay home sick. Because they thought him a murderous psychopath that would kill them for the slightest hint of paranoia. 

Any hope had about things returning to normal was obliterated in that first painful work lunch on Monday. Civilian acted like a wooden cutout of themselves, giving him one word answered, eyes flickering to the door, looking as if he had already signed their death warrant. 

But he had hoped, given time, the chill could melt back into their previous camaraderie. 

And then they showed up to work with a 102 degree fever. 

Jonathan believed in necessary suffering. Especially if it were necessary for his continued survival. But this was not necessary. Civilian making themselves sick with the constant fear of their uncontrollable and impending death was not necessary. 

So he had no guilt about essentially kidnapping them and keeping them at his apartment so long as they continued to improve. It had been a very long time since he had taken care of anyone else but himself, and those memories were kept locked away in a box that hurt too much to think about. 

But he found it easy to keep them hydrated, cook them soup, let them watch their stupid, infuriatingly addictive design show. 

As the show progressed and he gave up any pretense of pretending not to watch it, he couldn’t help the thoughts that slowly crept in, how else to care for Civilian:

Washing their hair in the shower, rubbing the soapy loofah over their back and thighs and chest in sure, slow passes. Getting on his knees and pressing them against the shower wall and not stopping until he could taste their orgasm on his tongue, even if he drowned. Sitting them on his lap on the couch, cradling them against his chest as he fucked them with sweet and steady strokes. 

The sound of Civilian struggling to sit up snapped him out of his daydream. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, somewhat exasperated. 

“I’m getting more tea,” they said.

“I’ll get the tea. You start the next episode. I need to see that prick get eliminated.”

“I can make my own tea by now,” they protested. 

He snatched their empty mug regardless. 

“Sit. You won’t lift a finger while you’re here, whether you like it or not.”

A gentleman always takes care of his charges. 

Part Nine

As much as he loved Shakespeare, as much as he loved watching the sheer unadulterated delight on Civilian’s face as they watched the play, Jonathan wanted nothing more than to drag Civilian out of the theater. He wanted nothing more than to find a darkened hallway or a bathroom or even their car in the edge of the parking garage. 

He wanted to kiss and lick and bite them, he wanted to hook their leg around his waist and buck into them, he wanted to take them with a hand over their mouth and his mouth on their neck with a ferocity that quite frankly worried him. 

He had to reckon with himself, as Benedict and Beatrice reckoned with their own feelings, that he wanted Civilian. Not as a distraction, or a manipulation, or a way to stroke his own ego and live out his own twisted fantasies, but just wanted them. He liked them, liked simply being around them. 

Ridiculous. 

The horrifying realization followed him into the suspiciously sticky interior of the old arcade he let Civilian drag them to because he didn’t want the night to end just yet. 

And he had reason to suspect that maybe Civilian would let him fuck them, that part of them wanted him even though it went against their precocious morals and complicated dynamic. 

He had a feeling, judging from the spike of heart rates when he got near, the stolen glances at him, the way they hugged that hideous frog plush, that if he pushed them against the door of their car and kissed them senseless they would have no objections. 

But he didn’t fuck them in a darkened hallway or kiss them in a parking lot because Jonathan would be leaving soon. And a gentleman didn’t kiss and run. 

But goddamn, did that restraint take all his self control that night. 

[bronzemettle]

What happens if Rogue and Parasite touch each other?

The differences between their powers don't really matter here bc the first thing that happens is they both steal each other's power-stealing powers, then re-steal their own powers back again. Once that happens they both start triple-speed draining the other using both powers at once. But they're also both burning energy to do that. There's waste in the life force loop that's been created which leaks fast. This is a bad time for everyone. Neither of them "wins" without outside intervention or breaking off the connection and fighting more conventionally (and then Rogue wins).

[kacievvbbbb]

Yuuji Itadori has never had a life that was his own. He belongs to everyone but himself. Whether for the sorcerers, the curses and Kenjaku, the coaches at his school or even his grandfather he is a slave to their expectations. He is either a tool to be used or a weapon to be sharpened

He was born unnatural there has never been a moment his life was his own.

It’s kind of interesting and fucked up that the only person that’s never expected anything of him is Sukuna.