#Mutually Assured Destruction

[didi-champleve]

I get so violently turned on by you that it hurts me a little... so what you gotta do is what you have been doing...

Being cute and sweet and goofy and delicious

now I'm conflicted, it's so much easier in theory and I never expected anyone to respond. I want to savour that feeling so much, it makes my cunt throb and gives me little 🦋 🦋 🦋 knowing that like damn...but... also... if you feel about me that way, I don't want you to hurt at all actually and I want to cover you in little kisses and make it all feel better 🥺

so now what do I do?!

I guess I can take your advice though either way...

cute sweet

goofy delicious

in ref to this post

[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

[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

[juneofbones]

My favorite ship dynamic is terrible person x terrible person

[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 if 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.

[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. 

[didi-champleve]

To rest my head on your tummy, as a break from more strenuous activity, and I trace all your little scars and burns and learn the history of your body.

*sighs*

You would be a lifetime well spent.

you are the sweetest ✨🥺✨

but it really would take a lifetime to trace all my scars 😶 but I'd love every moment 💕

💕come rest your head and let me play with your hair and make you feel all cozy 💕

[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.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

was thinking abt how my ideal doctor/yaz is when they love each other only sliiiightly more than they hate themselves, but then i was like, you know what might be better actually? if they dont love each other at all

i mean think about it. it's easy. they cant. they havent, like, build a life together. they never had to. love is a promise they didnt make

what passes for romantic feelings for companions in the doctor i think generally is idolisation. yaz has definitely been idolising. depending on your take the doctor might also have been the object of her first queer feelings ever. shes unattainable in like every way for yaz. theres no future to imagine here. there never was. i dont think either of them ever assumed there would be either. theyve had their eyes on the finish line since the beginning

so imagine a reunion. yaz and 14. every barrier now lifted. the doctor no longer lives a life of running from one place to the next; no more being with the doctor means neglecting home. hes suddenly emotionally available too. and they both know,,,Everything. they both know everything theyve never talked about. they reach the finish line and crash over it, into each other, no one had plans for this. a mess

so time to build, right? this is everything they wanted, right? except, is it? they only know each other in extremis. two adrenaline junkies in shared search of a fix. two people unable to stop running, forcibly grounded. yaz has five years of unspoken grievances to air. the doctor about five thousand of unspeakable memories. this is two peas in a powder keg

the doctor attaches in extremes, with abandon, yaz only cautiously, with reservation. neither of them know how to do friendship very well. theyve spent years afraid of losing each other, do you think theyre gonna be able to tolerate being apart now? even if being around each other is pressing every wrong button like a novice pilot or one who never read the manual, and inevitably leads to arguments they both know are years out of date but cant stop themselves from having anyway?

their coping mechanisms might have been malformed but now theyre taken away. dont you think theyre gonna come up with something to replace picking fights with daleks? we've got ptsd à deux and nowhere to go. if they cant be helpful at least they can keep busy. picking fights with each other. having sex with each other, because hey we got this newfound queer sexuality we should try it out, right? none of this is quite right but we're not gonna stop to think now, are we? 

should we talk about the gender thing? oh but youre a timelord, billions of years beyond this petty human obsession. but, youre not. so why not obsess a little. rather this than the other stuff. and yaz likes you as a woman. and rose gets all this trans stuff. keep weaving them in because if you stop they might just fall out. of your orbit, the world, the universe, the story. you'll never see them again and you'll be all alone. again. better keep tying knots

how long until they realise this is worse than it was? how long before they can admit it to themselves? how many people to suggest, to one or the other, that hey maybe you guys should spend some time apart? go on vacation, find a hobby, get a job, talk to other people, give yourself a break. how many people to get snapped and yelled at because what do they know? what does anyone know? nobody does, nobody gets it. ryan and graham left, dan came in too late. nobody else lived their days. nobody could possibly understand whats between them. including them

it's yaz who tries breaking up, of course. takes too long to get there, but she would get there. eventually. the doctor gets mean, all "glad to be home?", all tooth and nail and you cant leave me i leave you, all scoffs and snarls, "we're not together, yaz"

"sure, whatever you say"

but if people stop watching doctor who kills himself. the doctor doesnt say this, of course. but yaz is very proficient in all the ways the doctor does not say things

"yeah well, survived it last time, so"

she doesnt clarify who. doesnt need to. the game of chicken never ended, only changed shape. who falls first, who realises first, who admits first, who stays alive longest after the universe ends. and now, perhaps, whos gonna reach for desperate measures first

place your bets

[secretly-a-catamount]

My ideal dynamic for Sebastian and MC

[justaz]

percy and rachel have so much dirt on one another it’s ridiculous. rachel exposes percy during a conversation with their friends about how often he waxed poetry about annabeth before they started dating (“i swear, rach, her face shines like a goddess’s and her smile could chase away any rain clouds and when she laughs it’s like the sun shines a little brighter and warmer-“) and percy just brings up how rachel accidentally spilled paint on a nude model one time and tried to help clean them up only to realize that she was just wiping paper towels over their naked body and promptly flew backwards knocking over the easel beside her which created a domino effect and everyone’s work hit the floor and they both kind of realize that they could both absolutely destroy one another so they just stop and change the subject

[tsukuyomii45]

Madara seems like the type of parent to make obito go to school no matter what

LOL

He is the type of parent that would make Obito go to school no matter what.

"Got a flu? Here's some VapoRub. Now go to school."

"Broke a leg? Back in my days I used to hop on alligators across different rivers just to go to school."

"Obito! I didn't raise you to become a lazy bum who would sleep all day. I'm not driving you to school today. I don't care if you're late, that is YOUR responsibility. Now get up, get dressed, and get out!"

"I didn't know I was raising a weak fool and a pansy. That Minato is too easy on you. Man up and get to work-- I mean, school!"

[arealphrooblem]

Mutually Assured Destruction Part 7

I'm on vacation so you get this one early! Some things are addressed in this chapter, some things will wait for later.

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.

Part one Here

Part 6 Here

The apartment had no personal effects whatsoever. Even if Civilian’s brain was firing on all cylinders right now, they’d be hard pressed to find something that spoke to his personality. Of course, temporary safe houses didn’t need decoration. Still, it was unnerving, even in their current state.

Jonathan returned, holding a thermometer and a glass of water.

“Open up,” he said, the thermometer chirping as he turned it on.

Civilian took the thermometer and placed it under their tongue. Jonathan reached out with his hand and Civilian jerked violently back again. Which was ridiculous — Jonathan didn’t need to touch Civilian to hurt them. But they couldn’t help the sharp spike of panic.

“My apologies,” he murmured, a strange look on his face. “I’m just feeling your forehead.”

This time Civilian forced themselves to hold still as he cupped their forehead. The fingers felt so blessedly cool on their skin they then had to force themselves not to lean into it. The thermometer beeped and Jonathan whisked it from their mouth before they can see for themselves. His expression turned stony.

“102.3,” he said, holding the thermometer out like evidence in court. “What utter lunacy drove you to come to work today?”

“I . . .”

Words failed them in the face of his obvious irritation.

“Well?” he prompted. He looked almost like an angry mother and it would be funny if Civilian wasn’t so terrified of him, trapped in his space with no way out.

“I . . .didn’t know what you would do,” they swallowed, “if you . . .thought I ran away.”

The hard edge of his expression softened into something Civilian didn’t recognize. His gaze darted back down to the thermometer for a moment before setting it down on the coffee table.

“I’ll be right back,” he said quietly before disappearing again.

Even though Civilian had the use of their limbs back, they had no intention of going anywhere. In fact, they felt on the verge of passing out. Their whole body trembled and shivered, desperately cold. Jonathan’s footsteps creaked throughout the old wooden floors and soon he returned, hands full with a glass of water and a large bottle of fever reducer. A pile of blankets and pillows floated behind him.

“Drink that whole glass,” he said. “And take three of those pills.”

He watched with arms folded to ensure they obeyed. Not that he needed to. Civilian would do almost anything to feel relief right now. They took the pills and asked and drank down the glass in careful sips. When they finished, he proceeded to make the couch up as a bed around them. Then he gently guided Civilian into the soft nest of pillows and blankets with invisible hands.

“Sleep,” he said, not unkindly.

Civilian’s body gratefully slipped into oblivion.

When they woke again, the sky was dark and the room lit by a soft lamp. Jonathan sat in the armchair off to the side, reading, glasses perched on his nose. He didn’t notice them and Civilian took this opportunity to study him in the soft glow, as if his features could reveal the secrets behind his contradictory nature:

How he could save their life one moment and threaten it the next. How he used coercion and blackmail to treat them to carefully planned outings that enlivened Civilian’s previously dull life. How he stole their bodily autonomy just to take care of them in their illness.

They found no answers.

As if feeling the weight of their stare, Jonathan’s gaze flickered from his book to Civilian.

“You’re awake. It’s nearly nine PM,” he said, standing up and taking the empty glass from the coffee table. “Take your temperature. I’ll get you more water.”

Nothing this man did ever made any sense.

Civilian dutifully placed the thermometer in their mouth and pushed the button on. It chirped out just as Jonathan returned with their refilled glass.

“101.1,” they reported.

He nodded. “It’s going down. That’s good. Take more of that medicine. Are you hungry?”

They shook their head.

“I’m not surprised. Are you comfortable? Do you need more pillows, more blankets? Are you cold?”

Civilian stared at him in disbelief for a moment before shaking their head again. Several sarcastic retorts bubbled up in their throat and they swallowed them back down.

“I’ll be here if you need anything.”

A threat? A promise? Civilian was too tired to figure that one out.

When they awoke again, morning light streamed through the window and their hair stuck sweaty, to their forehead. Their mouth tasted like death yet for the first time in days they felt hungry. The living room was empty, but Civilian heard the sink running in the kitchen.

Groggily, they reached for the thermometer and took their temperature.

Jonathan peeked his head out from the kitchen doorway, attention caught by the beeping.

“Good morning. It's close to ten AM. What’s the verdict?”

“99.7” they said.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Excellent. You’re improving rapidly. Would you like something to eat?”

Their stomach growled in answer.

“Message received,” said Jonathan,smirking now, before ducking back into the kitchen.

Several minutes later he returned with soup and toasted bread, setting them down carefully on the coffee table. Steam wafted up in the morning light.

“Careful,” he warned. “I just took it off the stove.”

The only time anyone ever cooked for Civilian was at a restaurant. They stared down at the soup and then back up to Jonathan. Now, out of the worst of their misery, the bafflement of this whole situation became too much to bear.

“What is this?” they demanded. “Why are you doing this? What is going on here?"

His eyebrows rose. “You don’t remember yesterday — when you showed up at work with a hundred and two degree fever?”

Civilian glared. “Yes, I remember yesterday, when you controlled my body like a puppet and practically kidnapped me. I also remember Saturday, when you nearly stopped my heart told me if I wasn’t properly afraid of you, you would kill me. Now you’re playing nursemaid and cooking me soup and I don’t understand just what the hell it is that you want from me.”

He gave them that strange, discomfited look again and now in the clear light of morning with their symptoms reduced, Civilian recognized it as guilt. No wonder they didn’t recognize it the first time; they didn’t think Jonathan was capable.

“I saved your life Saturday,” he pointed out. “I did so without even thinking. But everything that came after . . . was a mistake.”

“A mistake,” Civilian repeated slowly.

Jonathan grew quiet for a moment, his brow troubled, as if in the middle of a great internal argument. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Civilian: you terrify me as much as I terrify you.”

They almost snorted. “ . . .I don’t think you realize just how scared of you I am.”

“Oh, I know,” he said ruefully. “I can track the spike of your heart rate when you see me, how uneven your breathing becomes, the tremor in your hands. Just like the first time we met. But that had stopped for a while . . .until I ruined it.”

Civilian didn’t dare say anything. Already this conversation had veered sharply off course. Jonathan had never before revealed any of his inner thinking, his vulnerability. They sat in expecting silence while Jonathan searched in himself for the words.

“You’re not the only one trying not to pick sides, you know. A power like mine attracts ceaseless attention. I’ve dodged recruitment — voluntarily and forcible -- from either side since I was a teenager. I’ve given up everything at times to avoid it: my identity, my family, money, security . . .and its been successful. Until you.”

His eyes dart up to theirs, solemn and haunted.

“Until I met someone who I couldn’t hide from. I could slip away in a city of thirty million people and you could still find me. There’s no place in this world I could go to where you couldn’t sense me if you looked for me. If you ever gave up your own neutrality — voluntarily or otherwise — I would never have my freedom again.”

Civilian sat back, the guilt of that twisting ugly in their gut. “I . . .never thought about it like that,” they admitted.

Jonathan shook his head. “I didn’t want you to. The more ignorant you are the safer you are.”

“And that matters to you — my safety?”

“If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t be here now, would you?”

In more ways than one if they took into account their near fall to their death.

“You are an innocent,”he continued. “Caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. I may be entirely self-serving but I’m not so monstrous that I don’t recognize that. But these last few weeks it’s been easy to forget just how much of a threat you are to me. And when you spoke so cavalierly of my power . . .it was a terrifying reminder of how precarious my secret is with you. I was afraid. I lashed out. I regret it.”

He held their gaze, the truth stark and unshielded in his dark eyes.

“What is it that you want from me?” Civilian asked, more gently than the last time.

“I want to trust you but I don’t think I can bring myself to do so. Even still, I’m not going to hurt you. Your life is not in danger every second you’re around me. If everything remains as it was these last few weeks, you have no reason whatsoever to fear me. Just know that I would choose my freedom over your life if I had to. I hope I don’t have to.”

Jonathan could be lying his ass off, just like he did at work every day. But something in their gut told Civilian this was the real truth. And understanding it, finally, put them on an even playing field. Civilian held his life in their hands just as much as he held theirs.

It didn’t fix everything — this whole situation was a knife’s edge, with so many ways it could end badly for either of them and Civilian would rather not be involved in anything, period.

But it made it easier to bear. It gave them hope that they could both come out of this unscathed.

It made them feel, strangely, less alone.

Part 8 here

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