#cannot believe things are so down to the wire

[mirror-to-the-past]

Euuuughbb blblblb

[keferon]

TexAid - Vortex has taken First Aid as his pilot. First Aid claims Vortex as his mech.

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

There's a rumbling in the distance as First Aid crawls out the darkened hatch of Vortex's escape chute.  The hangar is a wreck of collapsed walls, twisted metal pipes, and broken wiring shooting up sparks. 

First Aid pushes himself to his feet, stands back, and uses the flashes of light to take stock of the situation. 

This is…not good. 

He counts a dozen cuts and bruises across his own aching limbs before abandoning the effort.  He is satisfied at least that he is intact, alive, and functional.  All his injuries will heal, given treatment and time. 

Time he may not have.  Because Vortex on the other hand is not so lucky – lights off, systems silent, frame crumpled on the ground.  A slow trickle of oil leaks from the mecha, swirling into one of the many pools of alien ooze scattered around Vortex's frame along with chunks of the aliens' flesh.

The battle had been fierce, Vortex's fighting the fiercest Aid had ever seen against the many enemies.  But for the first time, it hadn't been enough.  The mecha suddenly going dark – collapsing under the strain of overtaxed systems even as the last of the monster's fell.  Leaving First Aid truly alone in that cockpit of horrors for the first time.

Another rumble sounds in the distance, shaking First Aid from his reflection.

He refocuses on the present, pushing himself to his feet and stumbling towards Vortex's head.  He raps his knuckles against the glass of the visor, shouts at the mecha to wake up. 

Nothing.

Vortex has gone dark.

This is not good.  He is dead.  They are dead, if Vortex cannot wake.  Because those distant rumbles are definitely not friendly.

No human has survived fighting the aliens without a mech.  And first Aid is a medic first.  Vortex is the fighter – the killer – of their strange partnership.  First Aid doesn't know what the aliens do to the mecha and pilots that go missing from the battlefield and are never recovered.  And he doesn't intend to find out.

But he does know what the science team will do with Vortex – a billion dollar prototype gone wrong – out of control and now offline.  They will take the mecha apart, dissect him, strip him down to his basest components to find out where it all went wrong.  And when they're done, what's left will be scrap – pieces repurposed into other mecha repairs.

They might build a new prototype top-of-the-line killing machine 2.0.  But is won't be Vortex.

First Aid hates that.  Because he should hate Vortex, after all the other has put him through.  But he doesn't.  Because before all that, Vortex had saved him.  Vortex chose him – kept First Aid alive and safe, even as he's shown countless times just how easily he could destroy Aid.

And Vortex is…was…could be alive – a mecha with a consciousness all his own in a way First Aid had not believed until he experienced it first-hand.

Out of ignorance, out of fear, out of hate, or simply because of the harsh realities of war – the others will kill Vortex (if he isn't already dead; please don't be dead) and never realize what they have done, because they never recognized that he was alive to begin with.  Never saw him as anything more than a glitch, an aberration in their perfect war design.

First Aid has a duty to save lives.  He cannot – will not – let that happen.  Vortex is his.  In death as much as in life.

The rumbling grows closer, close enough First Aid can imagine he hears the slithering of tentacles along walls underneath it. 

He will not let any other – alien or human – take Vortex from him, not while he still lives.

The cables on the ground throw up another flurry of sparks – casting eerie shadows across Vortex's frame.  First Aid's eyes fixate on the light, tracing the path of the wiring from where it snakes across the floor back up to the housing on the wall.  A broken main charging cable for a mech.

Maybe…just maybe…

It's a terrible idea.  So many things could go wrong – electrocution, a gruesome death, ending up a mindless shell on life support for the rest of his days (not so different from how Vortex already is now).  Pharma or Ratchet or any other medic would tell him as much.  They would tell him that there's almost no chance of powering on a mecha once it's gone fully dark, that it isn't worth risking himself too (and particularly not for this mecha).

For anyone else that might be true, but by now First Aid is used to a little risk.  Risk of electrocution and death?  Just another average day on the job.  No different than what Vortex puts him through every time he straps into the pilot seat.  The only thing that's different now is that Aid is choosing to take the risk.

Because there is a chance.  And First Aid is going to take it.

The rubber insulation of the cable is already in his hand when he looks down, his body having carried him to it as his mid was busy shutting out the doubts every other medic would have said.

Something bangs against the collapsed wall blocking entry to the hangar, sending a shower of dust outward.

First Aid hefts the cable over his shoulder, careful to keep the sparking end far in front of him, and begins the trek across the warehouse.  His shoulder burns from the extra weight on an already stressed joint and his legs protest as he forces them to twist and jump to avoid the pools of fluid that would cause instant electrocution if they came into contact with his body and the cable.

The aches don't matter.  He is a medic.  He can carry his own weight and still have the strength to lift up others.  He can do this.  He will do this.

First Aid is gasping for breath by the time he reaches Vortex again.  His sides ache, lungs burning with each breath.  He mentally adds checking for the possibility of bruised ribs to his catalogue of injuries, then shoves the pain aside to focus fully on Vortex's frame.

First Aid eyes the power node at the back of the mecha's neck and before he can think twice, shoves the broken power cable into it.  Sparks fly around the junction and Vortex's frame jolts, lights flickering briefly, then stills.  First Aid pulls the cable away, then hits Vortex again.  And again.  And again.  Lights flicker.  Sparks fly.  Dust showers around First Aid.  Electricity jolts through Vortex's frame.

"Come on," First Aid mutters as Vortex's lights stay on a full second after he pulls the cable away before stuttering out again.

He takes a deep breath and throws the cable directly into the center of Vortex's chest, where the mecha's primary batter is housed.  Sparks fly across Vortex's frame, lights flicker, flash bright white, then stabilize to a dim red glow.

First Aid's momentary relief shatters as Vortex moves and he feels a gust of air from a cold metal blade passing just over his head.  There's a dull thunk, and then fluid is pouring down on First Aid, coating him in a thick sludge of blood from the alien that First Aid reckons was looming just behind him, judging by the bright green eyeball that falls from above to land in a spatter at his feet.

First Aid looks up at Vortex looming over him, gloving red light pouring out from the maw of the cockpit and laughs, shaking hysterically as a hand reaches down to scoop him up from the ground.

They are alive.  He is Vortex's.  Vortex is his.  They are alive.

D-dont. Don't make me even more feral about them than I already am. Don't. I was GOING TO SLEEP BUT NOW MY BRAIN WON'T STOP WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME HOW AM I GONNA PRETEND TO BE NORMAL NOW WH

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[teaboot]

While I'm happy that the word "gaslighting" is more known than it used to be, and that people at large are learning to recognize what it looks like, I feel like we need to be careful not to turn it into something soft and casual we throw around off the cuff without meaning.

Being gaslit is psychological abuse that fucks you up very badly, very slowly, at such a gradual pace that you don't usually know it's happening until it's already re-wired your brain.

If you're unfamiliar with the term, "to gaslight" is to intentionally persuade someone that they cannot trust their own perceptions of reality. It's a destabilizing form of manipulation that leaves you constantly anxious, off-balanced, confused, and dependant on others.

This is done by lying about events that have happened or about things that are happening, invalidating feelings and observations, and either denying, refusing to acknowledge, or deflecting away from hard facts.

As someone who has experienced gaslighting as a form of abuse, this is what I remember from when I didn't know anything was off:

"Oh, I must have forgotten what really happened."

"I'm just not seeing it from their point of view."

"Everyone has their ups and downs. This is normal."

"I guess I wasn't thinking about what I was doing."

"I must have been wrong."

This is what I remember from when I first started realizing something was weird:

"How come every time I'm convinced they did something wrong, they just talk to me a few minutes, and I end up asking for their forgiveness? What has me so convinced I was right in the first moment?"

"I should start writing things down when they happen, so I can go back and check later when I'm confused."

"If every relationship like ours (familial, romantic, platonic) works this way, how come I never hear about it, or read about it, or see it anywhere else?"

Getting out and adjusting to the real world is hard, too, and comes with rapid swings of unfounded guilt, shame, fear, anxiety, and self-deprication that are completely unfounded in reality.

You've been conditioned to believe that you are entirely helpless and unable to think for yourself, possibly "crazy" or otherwise fundamentally impaired, and that there is a singular source of guidance that knows exactly what is right, and all of a sudden that pillar of support has vanished.

The immediate "after" that I recall looks like:

Constant uncertainty. Because nobody is there to tell you what's real and what isn't, you approach every situation thinking at it from all angles. Every question has fifty possible answers and most of them are wrong and you don't know which. If you choose wrong, the world will end.

A sense of helplessness. You feel that nothing you do is correct, and it's easier to make no choices at all- or you make wild, reckless, impulsive choices, because you feel you have nothing to lose.

Memory loss. I don't understand this one, but it's not like memoriescare being erased, but more like... you're so used to treating your memories as dreams or imaginations that you reflexively dismiss anything you recall as fake, and you can't believe anything you recall because you don't think it was real. Your abusers voice is in your head, wiping things away and telling you that you did the wrong thing. And you believe them, because they're the only constant you can rely on.

Missing the abuser, or the abusive dynamic. Because you know now that it wasn't healthy, but at least you knew where you stood. As long as you said the right things and acted the right way, agreed and obeyed and did as they expected, you felt like thevworld made sense. Now you have to figure out which parts of you really are broken, and which parts are working fine in a really weird way, and it's like tuning a piano when you've never played one before.

The long term "after"- for which I can only speak for myself- looks like:

Having to double-check, triple-check, and continue checking hard evidence of an event before responding in an active way.

Consulting with trusted friends to verify that your observations are legitimate and that your perceptions are valid. Following up with them to see if someone is really angry at you, or if you're just projecting anger onto them because it's what makes sense to your old pattern.

Obsessive collection of "evidence"- saving pictures, writing detailed journals, making recordings and video, never deleting emails or old texts, because you still don't quite trust yourself all the way and you're afraid that someone will cause you to doubt yourself again.

Continued self-doubt and being "gullible": I have straight up seen people flip me off to my face in front of witnesses and then immediately tell me, "No, I was just waving", and my first instinct is to believe them. For a few seconds, I *really do* believe them. Your brain is so trained to latch onto what people tell you to believe that its really, really hard to hold onto information that you already have.

Learning to take ownership over your own actions. (I didn't mess up because I'm "crazy", I messed up because I'm a person and people do that.)

Instinctively seeking approval. (Takes a lot of work to remind myself that I don't exit to make people happy, and that some people suck ass, and I can tell them to piss off.)

I don't intend to invalidate anyone currently struggling with this- if you feel that something is wrong, it probably is. That's the thought that got me out. Trust that feeling that something isn't right.

I just want people who don't know what to look for to know what gaslighting *actually* looks and feels like, so they don't just roll their eyes and think, "Oh, that word doesnt apply to me- I'm not some snowflake".

('Cause we all saw what happened with "triggered", right?)

[melancholymetropolis]

Big Ole Freak

plot: A curious archivist accidentally summons Ryomen Sukuna

pairings: Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

genre(s): MONSTERFUCKING; Shameless Smut

warnings: unedited (mostly). canon divergence. d/s role. FEMDOM Y/N. bratty sub Sukuna. breathplay. choking (m receiving). reader is shy at first but kinda bossy towards the end. fight for dominance lowkey. PIV SEX. sukuna had four arms and used all of them. TEASING. fingering. creaming. possessive sukuna. feral reader. lowkey pining. talks out love. overthinker reader. pet names (kuna, pet, baby, monster, etc.) dirty talk. oral (f receiving). praising. multiple positions. rounds and rounds and rounds.

w.c: 8.2k

a/n: if I told you that almost 5.5k is smut would you believe me?

“Testing,” I said into the tape recorder. “One, two.”

I played the audio back and grimaced at the sound of my own voice. After years of extensive research, one could only hope to move past that insecurity. I deleted the recording and placed the device on the table. I dimmed the lights within the small community library and opted to turn on a few electric candles. I adjusted my wire-rim glasses and pulled my mini-twists into a ponytail. Once satisfied with the set-up, I slipped on white cotton gloves and pressed play on the recording.

“Good Evening, listener,” I said politely into the device. “My name is Dr. Y/N L/N, senior archivist at Jujutsu Library here in Japan. I hope you are doing well.”

I proceeded to place a heavy box on the table and continued to talk. “I am using this recording to document the initial opening of the Ryomen Grimoire. It was reported to be a book of spells for a powerful emperor named Sukuna, all the way back in the Nara period of Japan. For reference, that would be somewhere in the 1100s.” I cleared my throat the remark and placed two hands on the lid. “There is not that much history on the empire, as his life is riddled with mystery. There are far too many conflicting reports about who Sukuna was and how he came to be one of the most ruthless rulers of all time. Some say it was due to him being orphaned at a very young age. Others say it was his father's abuse of him. Then, there is a tale of lost love. Apparently, a woman he was dating had cheated on him and fallen pregnant with another man’s baby.” 

I cleared my throat again and started to rub it gently. There was a subtle tightness around the area that caused irritation to my whole being. But, that hadn’t been the only thing. I could feel chills slowly drifting down my spine and goosebumps began to rise on my arms. The sensation was odd on many accounts. The first being that I was in the basement of the library. It was notoriously known for being without an air conditioner. I had spent many days, drenched in sweat, archiving old materials. There had been a crappy fan stationed here, but its winds were too powerful for such delicate papers. The second odd thing about the room was that I hadn’t been particularly cold, nor scared to obtain said goosebumps. I was not trembling with fear or on the brink of freezing to death. My body was utterly calm and my mind totally clear. My temperature was neutral; I wasn’t hot or cold. Reading grimoires and looking at so-called “haunted” materials was a typical Sunday for me. It wasn’t something that brought me joy or excitement, it was just my job.

“As you possibly tell by my brief description, the stories conflict quite a bit,” I continued on. “One cannot be an orphan with a father or vice versa. In all truth, researchers are all confused as to who he truly is. They are trying to figure out what kind of man he was and how he impacted Japan’s history. This is why the discovery of his grimoire was massive and brought in a lot of attention. Scientists from all over the world are flying in to witness its contents. But, lucky for us, Jujustu Library is the first one to get their hands on it.”

I undid the metal latches on the side and began to raise the lid. A retched stench tore through the air upon opening it. My body shivered with disgust and I felt myself gag a little. 

“Note to self,” I said to the recorder. “Please restock facemasks as soon as possible.”

I’d simply cut that part out later. 

I tucked my nose in my shirt and inhaled deeply. “I will now take the grimoire out of the box.”

The book was approximately twelve inches wide and fourteen inches thick. When I had dropped my hands in the box and grasped the edges, I could tell by the weight that it was about eight hundred pages long. It was a remarkable five to six inches thick, with a leather buckle holding it shut.  I placed the heavy object on the table with a gentle “thud and proceeded to unlatch the leather binding. Small flecks of dust seeped from the pages as the pressure was released from the latch. They painted the white table a subtle rusty brown color.

“It seems to me that the book has been stored in some kind of volcanic environment,” I observed, adjusting my glasses. “The dust particles have a reddish tint to them. This insinuates that the box must've been buried in iron-rich soil. This kind of dirt can be found near recently erupted volcanoes. Magma has high levels of magnetite phenocrysts, which hardens over time and creates magnetite iron.” I looked closely at the lid of the crate and hummed. “This theory is justified by the imperfections on the outside of the crate. There a subtle singe marks on the lib of the box and on the left side. This is interesting, to say the least.” I cleared my throat. “I will now peel back the cover of the book.”

True to my word, I took the cover of the grimoire in my hands gently and peeled it back to reveal the cover page. 

“There is a scripture written on the first page,” I said, bringing my face closer to the brown pages. “It’s quite, faded, but I will do my best to read it aloud.”

As definite as the sun

And consistent as the moon

The power of Ryomen Sukuna will possess us all.

The King of Curses is a God to Many

Ruler of all things dark and cruel

Father to the monster of the below.

He feasts on the innocent 

Lusts for the wicked 

And craves all things violent. 

“The last part is a little hard to read. There seems to be a substance covering the last stanza,” I mumbled, a little frustrated at the notion. I sighed deeply and adjusted my position at the table. I walked over to the far edge and dug into my tool bag. I pulled out a magnifying glass and a flashlight. I brought the touch a safe distance away from the book and clicked it on. With the magnifying glass directly behind it, I was able to decipher the words rather quickly. 

With the moon at a crescent 

And a lady nearby

Ryomen will come alive

She will call out to him

Bring him back to the land of living

And he will conquer it all once again

Suddenly, the light above the table began to flicker and buzz. The moment I raised my head to look at it, the light clicked off.  The room was shrouded in darkness, aside from the little flashlight in my hand. I used the little beam to direct myself to the room’s exit. I gripped the handle of the door and gave it a fierce turn, but it wouldn’t budge. It was stuck. With all my strength, I pulled and pushed at the heavy metal door. I tried my best to remain calm. I knew better than to let panic consume my body and make me behave irrationally. This wasn’t the first time creepy things happened when I conducted research on a haunted object. There were instances where the object flew across the room whenever I came near it. Other times, random scratches appeared on my body. I have had my fair share of weird things happening to me in the presence of cursed objects. But, locking me in the room with it was a new one. The entity attached to the artifact would much rather have me far away from it, not in the same vicinity as me. 

A warm gust of wind brushed against my back, making my body tense. I could hear the familiar crackle of fire in the distance as a purple-ish light filled the room. I turned my body slowly toward the table. My eyes widened at the sight. A flock of magenta flames had covered the surface of the black table, while black smoke filled the space around it. Within the fire, a deep, menacing laugh appeared. It filled the room instantly and brought shivers down my spine. My legs buckled and eventually gave out as I watched the scene unfold before me. My back slid against the metal door and my rear ended up on the floor. Gradually, a figure started to appear in the flames. 

There was a head covered in unruly, spiky hair; which led to a thick neck and shoulders. A set of arms started to materialize, followed by another. 

“Dear God. . .” The realization of what was happening had sank in.

That was Ryomen Sukuna.

I had summoned Ryomen Sukuna without meaning to.

I was utterly fucked.

The last part of the body to materialize was the eyes. There were four of them. The first set had sat normally on the face, while the other appeared beneath the. The bright red pupils seemed to glow in the heart of the flames and they seemed to be staring directly at me. A wide, sinister smile slowly formed on the King’s face, followed by a seductive lick across his pointed teeth. The laugh continued to echo throughout the room and it was the thing of nightmares. Something in my being had told me I would not survive the end of the night— that the King of Curses would slaughter me the moment he had the chance. He was not known for being kind, so I knew pleading would do nothing to help me. I would just have to accept my fate, which sucked in more ways than one. 

I would never be able to do all the things I always wanted to do.

Like traveling across the world, or sleeping in the Palace of Versailles. I wanted nothing more than to feel like a Queen, even if it were just for a day.

I would never learn how to be a sculptor. I had imagined my work being in museums all over Europe and people calling me the next Divinici. 

I would never tell Robert from Accounting how I felt about him. Granted the crush was still fresh and I had just realized my feelings a week ago. But, I was never one to act on those kinds of things. I knew that wanting love would lead to heartache and pain. My dating track record had been nothing short of a horror movie and I never truly had a partner like ever. Which was completely pathetic, since I was swiftly approaching thirty and never even. . .

The clearing of a throat snapped me from my head. I raised my vision back to the table and gulped slowly. The magenta flames had dissipated and the black smoke had cleared. Leaning on the edge was a man— a term I use very loosely. He was massive, probably standing somewhere between eight and nine feet tall. The thick, black-lined tattoos decorated his pale skin. They made him look even scarier. He was shirtless, and his broad chest had a dull sheen to it. He wore a pair of purple, wide-legged pants and traditional Japanese sandals. Even with their loose design, I can almost spot his muscular legs beneath them. Along with a semi-noticeable bulge in the crotch area. 

A fierce blush flared up on my face and I quickly looked away.

“So that is why you summoned me?” He teased, crossing both sets of arms across his chest. “The little lamb wanted to get fucked by a real man?”

The voice was deep and unnatural. It sent shivers through my body. The tingles weren’t from fear, however. They were from something else. Something a little more carnal than that. 

I slowly raised my body from the floor and pressed my back to the metal door once more. “Well, if we are being quite honest,” I said, clearing my throat. “You are not a man and haven’t been one for a long time. A very long time.”

“Oh?” He smirked, leaning forward just a little bit. “So, you summoned me to get fucked by a monster? Is that it?”

“That’s not it, at all,” I interjected, calmly. “It was not my intention to summon you at all. I was simply submitting your grimoire to our archives. I must have done it by accident, somehow.”

He hummed, unamused. 

 Sukuna’s four eyes were trained on me. He took in my long passion twists and how they were pulled back into a high ponytail. They traveled down my face, taking in my cocoa skin and plump lips. He held his gaze on my mouth for what seemed like an entirety before moving down to my neck and ample bosoms. He sped right past those and my midsection, before zeroing in on my legs. I had been wearing a skirt that fell just above my knees, so the chubby limbs had been on display. The four pupils seemed to be glued to the pale panty-hose covering the thick thighs beneath them. They seemed to be calculating something. Maybe he was determining just how flexible I was or pondering how a woman could be that tall. 

Whatever he was thinking about had swiftly left his mind the moment I cleared my throat.

The eyes snapped back up to me and a wicked grin formed on his face.

“There’s something. . . different about you,” he said, suddenly. “Something. . . off.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, adjusting my glasses.

“Well, if we’re being honest,” he mocked, completely mimicking my statement for moments before. “It is not easy to summon anything, especially a demon. Even a lower-ranking demon would require some kind of preparation before his expected arrival.” The hulking monster took a small step toward me, the smile growing wider. “And as you know, little researcher, I am not an easy demon to summon. It takes a really strong mage to summon me at all, let alone by accident.”

In the blink of an eye, he was right in front of me. His face was inches away from mine and his upper arms rested above my head. One of the hands from the lower arms had taken hold of my chin softly and tilted it upward. It forced me to look him in the eye. The smile on his face was devilish, but not at all sinister. Sukuna didn’t necessarily want to scare me it seemed. His other intention? I had no fucking idea. 

“I cannot smell fear on you, little human,” he growled. “Not one ounce. But do you know what I do smell?”

He waited. 

He wanted me to respond to his question.

“What?”

“Curiosity.” He let the word roll from his tongue like it was something precious.

“Well, of course,” I scoffed. “I am an archivist. It is my job to be curious.”

“No no no,” the monster shook his head. “That’s not it.” He brought his face closer until our noses were an inch apart. “You are curious about what I can do for you.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, wiggling my chin from his grasp. 

Sukuna moved his back and dropped his smile to a smirk. His upper arms were still above my head, while his lower ones were caging my body. “I can smell you, sweetheart.”

“What?” My eyes widened. “Smell what?”

“Your arousal,” he answered. “And it smells so, very sweet.”

My bottom lip fell between my teeth as felt the blush slowly rise up my cheeks.

His chuckle was deep and raw— and it made my panties even wetter than before. His eyes scanned over my body once again, revisiting the old territory. By the twitching bulge in his pants, I could tell the feeling was mutual. I could feel the heat radiating between our bodies and we haven’t necessarily touched yet. Mine was screaming and begging for my mind to take the opportunity. Finding Sukuna’s grimoire had taken up almost all of my spare time; making it even harder to seek fulfillment in other avenues. I didn’t know when was the last time I entangled my limbs with someone else’s. The temptation was real and strong. I almost didn’t know what to do. 

“Hand me the voice recorder,” I sighed with a stern look on my face. “It’s the little gray device near the box.”

With the snap of his fingers, the recording was nestled in my right hand. The King of Curses didn’t move one inch. I brought my eyes back up to his face and took in his devious smirk. It was so knowing and seemed unsurprised of my choice. He almost expected it and I hated that. 

I pressed the “stop” button on the device and tossed it aside. I made sure to never break eye contact with the eight-foot monster as my hands lowered to my shirt. My fingers found the buttons and slowly started to undo each one. The King of Curses swiftly lost our little staring contest and stared directly at my chest. My cleavage grew one inch at a time and it seemed he grew harder by the second. Once I was on the last button, Sukuna brought his hands up to touch my breasts, but I immediately slapped them away.

He laughed at the notion. “Oooh, feisty. I love that in a woman.”

“Do you?” I asked with a smile.

“They’re always the best ones to break,” he winked.

I gave him an unamused look. “On your knees.”

A look of genuine shock passed on his face. “Excuse me.”

“Get on your knees,” I enunciated each syllable in the sentence and kept that bored look on my face.

“I think you got it mistaken, sweetheart,” he quipped, bringing his face closer to mine. That time our noses actually touched. “I am the one in charge here.”

A dangerous smirk slowly inched up to my lips and situated itself there. “Tell me, Mr. King of Curses, did you summon yourself or was I the one to do it?”

“You were, but—”

“And according to my research,” I interjected, running a finger along his solid abs. “The summoner is in full control of the demon if there is no bargain made between the two. Meaning, I can keep you here as long as I want and do whatever the fuck I want until I present you with some kind of deal. In other words.” I allowed my hands to slide lower against his abdomen until they brushed against the protruding tent in his leather pants. “I have you by the balls and I am the one in charge.”

There was an expression in his eye that I couldn’t exactly place. It wasn’t anger or frustration. It wavered the line of infatuation and intrigue. Just like me, the nine-hundred-year-old emperor was curious. I don’t think people ever challenged him before, let alone women. It was easy to be afraid of the eight-foot-tall beast. He had four arms and two sets of eyes. All his teeth came down to a point and looked incredibly sharp. He had thick, lined tattoos on every part of his body, including his face. His eyes were an electric red and seemed to bore into one’s soul the longer they looked at you. There were muscles littered all over that massive body and he could move faster than sound itself. Sukuna Ryomen was an obvious apex predator to me and I was nothing but a lamb waiting to be slaughtered. 

He could have simply rejected my request and placed me on my knees instead. He had all the power to do it. 

Yet, he didn’t.

The King of Curses sunk to his knees slowly, keeping eye contact as he did so. He placed his hands on his lap and sat back on his heels. The demon looked up at me with wonder and a little anticipation. He had no idea what I was going to do next.

I let my open dress shirt slip from my arms and fall into a puddle at my feet. The only thing covering my top half was a simple cotton bra. It was pink and thin. When I looked down, I could see my perfectly pebbled nipples through the fabric. 

Sukuna could not stop staring at them either. 

Slowly, I lifted my left heel from the ground and took my leather pump into my grasp. I slipped the shoe off and tossed it aside. It hit the marble floor with a delayed “thud”. I repeated the action with the other one and looked down at the red-eyed demon. His eyes were still on my chest. I pressed my back against the metal door once more and lifted my stocking-covered foot to his lap. I rubbed my toes along the thick thighs and inched closer to the leather tent situated between them. Gently, I ran my foot against the erect member. My toes wiggled up the thick shaft, attempting to feel it through the thick fabric. I pressed the ball of my foot atop the member and felt Sukuna shiver beneath me. 

“Ooh,” I taunted with a smirk. “So you like that?”

“Yes,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Does it feel good, baby ‘kuna?” I asked, rubbing the ball of my foot against the shaft. 

“. . . Yes.”

“Bet you wish I would just unbutton your pants and use my hands, huh?”

The demon groaned and briefly closed his eyes. Sukuna opened his mouth to say something but immediately stopped. He tilted his head to the ceiling and murmured a few words in a language I didn’t recognize. While he was distracted, I removed my foot from his crotch; earning a growl from him. I dropped my hands to my thighs and slowly lifted up my skirt until it was above my rear. I pressed my thumbs in the waistband of both my pantyhose and my underwear and shoved them down. They slid down my smooth legs with ease and ended up at my ankles a moment later. Sukuna’s eyes were back on me. The curly mound was in his eye line and I could see his nostril flare a few times.

It was taking everything in him not to dive right in.

“Come here, pet,” I cooed, widening my legs for him.

The massive demon closed the distance between our two bodies in a heartbeat. Yet, his hands remained on his lap and his gaze was on my face. He was waiting for instruction. I almost giggled at the notion. A famed warlord and emperor was waiting for a mere human to tell him what to do. The situation was ironic in every sense of the word. But, it made my heart swell with pride. I had the deadly man, both alive and dead, on his knees before me. Sukuna was practically begging with his eyes to kiss my cunt. He was doing all he could to be a good little poppet. 

“Have a reward for being such an ob—”

My leg was hoisted on his shoulder and the other was hooked on his elevated arm. Both of my feet were off the ground. My thighs were wide apart and my cunt was exposed to the demon’s hot breath. The lower lips were slick and sensitive— which made the sensation even more pleasurable. His heavy, wet tongue slid against the tingling vulva and made my whole body shiver. A silent curse fell from my lips and I took a tight hold of his pink hair. The demon repeated the action several times, before shoving his face between my thighs. His hot mouth latched onto the weeping cunt and began to suck. The air in my lungs had grown thick and it was suddenly hard to take a full breath. In addition to the suction, his plush tongue was lapping against my clit. 

“Oooh. . . fuck. . . pet,” I hissed, rolling my hips against his face. “You are so good with that filthy mouth of yours. Keep going like this and I’m gonna cream all over that pretty face.”

Sukuna growled at the statement and pressed his claws into my thighs. The action was light but still heavy. He didn’t want to draw blood, but he still wanted to hold me very tightly. 

I lifted one of the massive palms placed on my stomach and lifted it to my face. I took in the thick fingers and the veins along the back of it. There were callouses on the fingers and a few on the inside. His claws were sharp enough to slit a throat, which explains his gentleness with them. I brought the bruised knuckles and gave them a tender kiss. I repeated the action on each finger until I was met with the claws once again. The longer I looked at his fingers, the more I wanted them in my mouth. I lowered my tongue from between my lips and ran the tip of it against the underside of the claws. The demon groaned in response and gripped my thighs tighter. I took long strides against the calloused digits and made sure to keep constant eye contact. 

“Can you lose the claws or not?” I asked, breathless. 

I could feel my peak gently rising over the horizon. There was a warm sensation slowly growing in my belly and my legs started to buckle. My hips were vibrating against his suckling maw and Sukuna had no intention of stopping any time soon.

Without warning, the claws on all four of his hands started to shrink back into his nail bed. Once they were close enough to the fingertip, the point widened and formed a standard fingernail. It was still black, of course. I smiled wickedly at the fingers and started to lick them all over again. Slowly, I started adding suction to the licks. I moved my lips to each digit, starting at the pinky, until I was left with the middle and an index finger. I bit my bottom lips lightly in anticipation. I was internally scolding myself for being excited over a silly thing. 

It was just a hand. It was nothing more. Sure, his palm was almost the size of my face and his fingers were twice the length of mine. It was a standard working man’s hand. The rational part of my brain couldn’t see why a girl would be so infatuated with something so mundane and ordinary. However, the irrational part of my brain couldn’t help but picture them within me. The fingers were so long and inviting— and not to mention pretty thick. Two of them were the width of a standard cock and would fill me decently. But a third would stretch me deliciously. It would do a wonderful job preparing for the monster between his legs. 

“Add a finger into my center,” I instructed, lowering his palm from my mouth. “And hook it upward.”

The obedient demon did exactly what he was told and pressed a finger to my center. The digit easily slipped into my awaiting hole. A low moan fell from my lips as he pressed against my G-spot. My hips rolled against his hand, greedy for more friction. 

“Add another,” I said quickly. 

The need to be stretched was becoming more prevalent and more prevalent. The second finger slipped into my canal and I shuddered. The subtle burn of the intrusion was glorious. The calloused fingertips pressing against the spongy area sent me deeper into bliss. His plump lips were still suckling my throbbing bud. The air in my lungs had gradually started to grow thicker and my body started to tingle. My mouth casually fell open as my eyes closed. My body was buzzing, vibrating from everything that I was experiencing. I had never felt this good with any partner I had. Many would complain about me even asking for oral. While others thought a clit lick was enough to make me cum. Yet, here was a Demon. The King of Curses on his knees feasting on my cunt like it was the last meal he’s ever had. A bloodthirsty heathen, at least according to history, was willing to treat me like a goddess and the mortal men thought me an object. 

Of course, it did help that he was attractive— in the worst way possible. 

My back arched against the metal door and my hips started to splutter against his face. All the air came rushing into my throat at once. My hand, shakily, gripped one of Sukuna’s spare ones. I interlocked our fingers and squeezed them tightly. I felt the demon tremble from beneath me. My messy cunt humped his pretty face as I rode out the climax. Silent curses fell from my lips like a goddamn sailor and my whimpers were barely audible. Stars exploded behind my eyes and electricity coursed through my veins. 

When the wave had come to a staggering halt, I pushed Sukuna’s head away from my oozing pussy. His fingers slipped from my sensitive walls shortly after. The demon set my shaky legs down and sat me on his lap while he rested on his heels. He stared at me with all four of his eyes. A tired smile fell on my lips as I gazed down at him, happily. 

“Kiss me.”

His lips were on mine before I could finish the last syllable. 

The kiss was slow and sensual. It made my heart grow warm and needy. It felt like something you’d give to a forgotten lover. Like a last effort to remind them of what they had lost. It engulfed me in feelings I hadn’t felt in a long time. Tricked my brain into thinking he actually had feelings for a mere mortal. 

I pulled away from the embrace to catch my breath. His kisses continued on. They inched down my jaw and along my neck. My shaky hand reached up to his pink locks and tugged lightly. My body rolled against his; desire was nipping at my heels once more. A pair of hands took hold of my waist and kneaded the soft flesh around it. I sighed, amused at the sensation. The skilled fingers moved lower and lower until they were palming my rear. He squeezed and pinched the soft flesh, growling while he completed the action. The hands moved lower and captured my thighs. He hoisted my body in the air once again. We were still attached at the lips. My hands were in his hair and my hips were rolling against his lap. 

"I need you," the demon growled against my neck. "I need to be inside of you. Right now or I'm going to paint the floor with my seed."

He wasn't the type to beg, I knew that for sure. The little statement was meant to suggest that he was nearing his limit. More than ever, he was desperate to be situated between my walls. 

A chuckle fell from my lips. "I barely touched you and you're already going to cum? You better not be a minute man, 'Kuna."

He scoffed and lifted his head from my neck. The intensity of his gaze made my insides rumble with delight and my head spin. “Don’t be mistaken, Historian. This little game of yours is truly something, but don’t let it go to your head. I could fuck you to the inch of your life and still wouldn’t reach my peak. You mortals are easy to break, all it takes is a few orgasms and some dirty words.”

I hummed, unamused by the comment. “Is that what you want? To break every woman you come in contact with?”

“Only the pretty ones,” he quipped, pinching my backside.

I didn’t even flinch. 

“Well, let’s see how long you can keep up with me, Your Majesty,” I said with a sigh. “Give me your worst.”

“You shouldn’t have said that, little human,” he snickered. “You’re gonna regret it.”

With the flick of his wrist, the remnants of my clothes were in ribbons on the marble floor. Never once did my feet touch the ground in the process either. He cradled me with one pair of arms while using the other to do his dirty work. I was completely bare before Sukuna, and our bare chests were pressed together. His upper arms were caressing and massaging the soft flesh along my back, while his lower arms hooked around my legs and gripped the underside of my thighs. The King of Curses brought his lips to mine once again, before lowering my body onto his awaiting member. I didn’t even notice that he had taken off his pants and exposed the massive rod into the cool air of the room. Due to our position, it was hard to catch a glimpse of what it looked like, but I did feel it. 

A gasp fell from my lips as my eyes fell closed. The stretch was delectable and stung marvelously. My oozing walls contracted against the throbbing member, almost begging him for inch after inch. The girth was unimaginable and it almost brought tears to my eyes. I dug my nails into the Curse’s forearms and tossed my head back. Silent moans kissed my lips as my walls continued to ooze all around him. Sukuna’s breath grew coarse and his grip on my thighs was tight. I could feel his eyes staring at me; taking in my lewd demeanor and the feeling of my tight pussy.

Before we both knew it, his entire length was situated in me and it seemed to shock him greatly.

“How fascinating,” he marveled, moving his upper hands to hips. “Never has a human taken all of me, without some resistance. This union is going to be better than I originally anticipated.”

“I’m ready when you are, ‘Kuna,” I said, gripping his forearms tightly. 

The eight-foot-tall curse started off slowly raising my body off his shaft and lowering back down gently. It was a cautionary measure to just how much I could take and how fast. Little by little he increased his speed and pressure. More and more my body bounced with such rigor and persistence. I didn’t start to truly make noise until the monster was basically dropping me on his awaiting cock as if I weighed nothing at all. Shouts mixed with moans spilled from my lips as I looked up at his face. Sukuna wore a cocky smirk with pride. It felt as though he was proud of himself for obtaining such a reaction out of me. I dug my nails into his forearms and watched as his smirk faltered from the sensation. 

Pain must’ve been the easiest way to his heart.

The heavy member was stretching out my poor womanhood in every direction. However, I could feel the plush head hitting a spot deep within my cunt, just beneath my cervix. The pleasurable sensation was making every nerve in my body sing. The longer his thrusts invaded my welcoming body, the closer I was being brought to orgasm. It wasn’t long before my thighs started to tremble from the insane movements of the monster. A thin sheet of sweat started to form on my body. I could feel my walls flutter rapidly against the massive cock and tension build in my lower abdomen. 

“Gonna cum already?” He snickered. “I thought you said I was supposed to keep up with you?”

I lazy smile fell on my lips. “Your ignorance is showing, baby ‘Kuna.”

“Please do share, Miss Historian.”

 Before I could reply to the statement, the King of Curse started to drop me even harder on his cock. The additional pressure on my a-spot had forced an electric shock through my body. My upper half jolted forward and my grip on his forearms tightened even more. I could see my knuckles begin to turn white from the hold I had on him. All the nerves in my body began to buzz and my abdomen started to ache. The climax was close enough for me to taste, but not close enough to devour. The need to cum had taken over every other thought in my mind. The worries about how dangerous the monster fucking me had slipped away. I no longer cared that he had been the most dangerous man in history, nor did I care about how completely insane the evening had been with him. I had never imagined being entangled with such a notorious curse and having him fucking me for the last hour with little kickback. I couldn’t believe how much I was enjoying having this monster at my beck and call. Nor could I believe that he sank to his knees and submitted to me. 

It wasn’t something I had been expecting, but I sure as hell wanted more of it. 

The orgasm struck my body like an arrow and threw me forward. Sukuna quickly repositioned his hands— wrapping two arms around my upper back and two around my waist. My thighs hooked around his hips and my arms were placed around his neck. My entire body was convulsed from the orgasm. I pressed my face fell against his smooth chest as I shivered against him. Curses and whimpers oozed from my lips as my cunt painted his dick with a thick creamy substance. He never stopped his thrusts. Sukuna kept the same, hard and quick pace as I became undone before him. The feeling was completely otherworldly and indescribable. I never wanted him to stop. I never wanted to be apart from him. I wanted our bodies to be joined together forever.

When the final wave of the orgasm left, an insatiable feeling had taken its place. An unrecognizable greed ate at my womb, begging the monster to fill it to the brim with his seed. The need wasn’t something I was ashamed of, but I wouldn’t dare share it with Sukuna. The King of Curses would let the statement go straight to his head.

I lifted my head from his chest and looked into his half-hooded eyes. He was studying me closely. Taking in my every reaction to see what my body craved the most. It made my heart flutter.

While his hips worked their magic, I leaned back into his arms and placed my hands on his shoulders. Slowly, I moved my left hand along his collarbone and placed it at the base of his neck. His eyes were focused on my face, a look of encouragement on his face. He wanted to be choked. His crimson eyes were practically begging me for it. 

But, I needed to hear him say it.

I moved my hand back to his shoulder but never broke eye contact. A look of disappointment flashed upon his face before he quickly washed it away 

“If you want something, pet,” I offered with a smirk. “You gotta use your big boy words.”

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he groaned, rolling his eyes.

“And you wouldn’t have it any other way,” I replied, the smirk widening to a smile. “Now, come on, baby ‘Kuna, tell your Mistress what you want her to do to you.”

A sigh fell from his lips and he briefly closed his eyes. “Will you. . . Can you. . . choke you me. . . please?”

I could feel my heart flutter once more from the broken sentence. I was almost tempted to ask him to repeat it, but I knew he wouldn’t no matter how much I begged. The shameful look he gave me when he opened his eyes made my insides stir. It added to the overall pleasure of the slow, deep thrusts he had been giving me. My chest was swelling with an emotion I didn’t fully recognize and I was almost scared to acknowledge it. There were remnants of love and longing in his gaze. I had seen glimpses of the emotions earlier, but I had tried to convince myself that I was going insane. Yet, the more I looked at him, the clearer his emotions seemed to me.

Slowly, I placed my hand on his neck and gave it a subtle squeeze. 

His eyes fluttered closed and a low groan erupted from his abdomen. “Harder. . .” The request was just above a whisper, but it echoed through my mind loudly. 

Like the good Mistress I was, I complied.

Realizing that Sukuna was far from human— and didn’t require air to survive— placed an evil idea in my mind. I mustered up all the strength in my right hand and squeezed his thick neck with everything in me. I watched my knuckles flicker from their usual color to a chalk-white as I did so. The massive monster shivered underneath me and his eyes fluttered shut. Deep, animalistic growls pierced the air around us. They were followed by the swift changing of his thrusts against my body. Instead of fucking me tenderly with a hint of aggression, Sukuna had switched to screwing me like he hated me. His hips slammed against my center with such rigor, I almost couldn’t think straight. My whole body bounced and jumped against his. My breath grew thick in my throat and my nerves seemed to sing. My thighs grew slicker and slicker by the second until I was sure my arousal was oozing all over his lap. 

“Fuck!” Sukuna growled, beneath me. “Why do you feel so good around me, mortal?”

I didn’t even have the air to respond to him. My head was doing a dangerous dance and jumbling all the thoughts within it. Even in my sedated state, I maintained the pressure I had on his neck. I could feel his thick member jolt and twitch within me. The reaction seemed to surprise him as well. His body took off in a smooth vibration as growls erupted from his throat. The King of Curses was nearing his end, only after about 30 minutes of constant penetration. To a human, that length of stamina would’ve been impressive. He would have been categorized as a good amongst men. But for a monster? It was questionable. Sukuna was known to fight for days without breaking a sweat. He could obliterate armies and leave relatively unharmed. There had been stories of his whore-ish escapades as well. Tales on how he had to reserve almost ten women in a brothel to get his rocks off. The stories, also, continued to say how each woman had to be given a “rest day” after spending a night with him and would happily do it all over again.

His hips vibrated against my pelvis and I felt his grip tighten on my thighs. A string of curses dripped from his tongue and he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“I’m gonna paint those pretty walls with my seed,” he growled, thrusting even faster into my cunt. “Mark my fucking territory so no other man can enter.”

The sensation in my belly was downright undeniable. The chilly approach to the climax had first taken over my toes. Numbness inched up the little nubs and to my calves. However, there was a change in temperature as it approached my thighs. I was no longer cold in that area, but insanely hot. There was heat that radiated from Sukuna and glittered over to me. My thighs felt as though they were burning and my stomach was on fire. Yet, it wasn’t painful. It was pleasurable. It gave me an added adrenaline boost. Instead of freezing like a fawn when the climax approached, I attacked like a bear. My nails dug into Sukuna’s neck and shoulder. I tossed my head back fiercely and felt the scrunchie holding my twists burst. Long strands cascaded over my naked, sweaty body. 

“Harder,” I growled, my head tilted to the ceiling. “Come on, pet. Fuck me like you mean it.”

My back hit the table moments later. My thighs were still spread open and wide for the monster. He pressed his body against mine completely— the closest we have been since this whole ordeal— and started to rut into me. Filling me over and over again with his over-sensitive cock. The pants coming from his lips sounded criminal and downright wrong. It was strange to hear a monster almost out of breath, especially when to sex. The activity was so natural in comparison to what atrocities Sukuna was usually up to. It felt like the King was giving me all he had in that last round. Mustering up his last bit of stamina to satisfy his mistress. 

That forbidden feeling was stirring in me once again. The one that felt dangerously similar to love. Even with my nearly fucked-out brain, I knew it was impossible to feel that way about someone I had just met a little while ago. It was even more irresponsible to feel that way about a literal King of Curses. A former menace to society in life and current pain in the ass in death. Just as much as Sukuna pleasured me, he annoyed the absolute shit out of me as well. His arrogant attitude and boastful demeanor almost made me hate him. Almost. It was his wavering obedience and the look I got when I choked him that changed my mind. I couldn’t hate him. At least not right now.

The orgasm was mind-numbing and  appeared out of nowhere. It was the strongest of the three and seemed to have sent me into the atmosphere. My back arched against the table and my nails dug into his ribs. My eyes rolled back and my mouth fell open. Above me, I could feel Sukuna’s body freeze for a few seconds. His hips jolted and trembled fiercely as his cock spasmed within me. Hot cum spilled from his slit and oozed into my awaiting pussy. Broken breaths fell from his lips as he gathered my body into his arms once again. Sukuna wrapped his arms around me and held me tightly. A searing kiss was placed on my lips as he lazily thrust into my slick cunt. It felt as though he wanted to empty every last drop into me before pulling away.

Yet, even when he finished emptying his load into me, the King of Curses still held me in his arms. The kiss had long been broken, but his forehead was pressed against mine afterward. His eyes were closed and his breathing was soft. There was a peaceful look on his face. He didn’t seem to be the massive warlord, the King of Curses, or the cocky bastard that blew my back out— he was simply Sukuna and that was enough for me. My hands found refuge in his hair. I stroked the pink locks tenderly and hummed sweetly. That forbidden feeling hadn’t left just yet. Everything about that moment oozed intimacy and, dare I say it, love. As much as I wanted more of it— as much as I fucking craved it— I knew it was not meant to be. I knew I had to be satisfied with just this. My hands in his hair and his body against my own.

“You stole something from me,” Sukuna spoke, finally lifting his forehead from mine. He opened his crimson eyes and searched my face. I didn’t know what he was looking for. 

I lowered my hand from his hair. “What did I steal?”

“My power,” he replied, wrapping his arms around me and pulling away. “You stole my power. Well, some of it at least.”

I sat up at the edge of the table and combed a twist behind my ear. “What are you talking about? How is that even possible?”

“It isn’t possible!” He snapped back with his back to me. 

His heavy feet paced around the small archive room and there was a quizzical expression on his face. The monster had been completely deep in thought. He was working out every possible answer, theory, or hypothesis in his head as to what the hell was going on. Wondering how a mere mortal could conjure him with any preparation. Thinking about how she was able to make him subtle to her with little effort. Questioning how it was even possible that she could steal  some of his power if she wasn’t a curse user. I knew what he was thinking because I too was thinking the exact same thing. The situation was bizarre for both parties and left us both stumped. 

Until my eyes dropped to the discarded grimoire on the floor and something suddenly clicked.

“I didn’t steal your power,” I said, watching Sukuna stop in his tracks at the sound of my voice. “I contained it.”

Slowly, his head turned to me as the thought penetrated his mind as well. A slow, cocky smile was pulled onto his lips. 

“You are my vessel,” he replied. “My anchor in the mortal world.”

“In other words, I am—”

“Destined to be mine. Forever.”

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

a/n: what's good y'all? I know I am hella late to kinktober, but here's my submission. I wanted to do something a little different for you y'all. do you we like the longer stories? how do we feel about the prompts? be honest tell me how you feel about it. i love reading your comments.

also, I will post a new story before the end of October, so watch out for that.

thinking about an official taglist. how do we feel about that?

see you soon.

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

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 4 part 6

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

(I can't believe I squeezed six entries out of this dang episode!!!)

agatha sees billy waking up and takes her usual moment to wipe all genuine emotion from her face and put on her mask. it's getting increasingly clear that this wretch of a woman is always wearing a mask and playing the larger-than-life uncaring witch she wishes she could be

not that she cares about you or anything.

billy does that thing children do. he doesn't say thank you or ask why she's crying, he asks about himself, his current troubles and fears, looking for guidance. that's the wonderful thing about a parent, they give a child a safe environment to grow and make mistakes and explore. A parent is, or should be, selfless. That billy feels safe doing this with agatha tells you he instinctively trusts her much more than he realizes.

agatha never lies to billy

and the way she's always drawn to teaching and explaining and guiding despite herself. deep, deep down agatha is a nurturing person who only ever got to nurture for a short time

I just realize agatha cannot actually say the name billy, can she? because of the sigil. so this is her going, I know it's still you kiddo, behind all that. I see some people arguing that agatha might actually think he's Nicky at first and personally I don't believe that's the case, the dialogue is muddy only to mislead the viewers before the big Wiccan reveal.

Two reasons agatha knew this was billy all along: she's had three centuries to sit with nicky's loss now. nicky is gone for good, no matter all her tricks and her pleading and her endless pit of sorrow, that is the one irrevocable fact that she will never be able to change. that is the cornerstone, the whole core of who agatha is today. she has lost nicky, she has committed unspeakable horrors to cope with that loss. she is afraid to die because nicky is on the other side and she cannot face him.

The second reason is that agatha loves billy for being billy, not just as a nicky stand-in. she was uniquely equipped to understand and empathize with wanda, and that's even truer for billy because he's a little boy and agatha's whole heart is wired and predisposed to reach out to him. she saw the miracle that was his birth, she saw first hand what chaos magic can do. this is a child flung out in the world carrying an immense power and no instructions on how to use it. he's capable of terrible things that could easily turn him into a monster and a pariah, and agatha is, besides wanda, the only person in the world who truly understands what that means. do you remember what happened to agatha at around the age billy is now? everything in her is demanding to guide and help. selfishly, because all that power would be hers to control. selfishly because he reminds her of herself and she wants to undo what her mother did to her. and selfishly because helping billy would in a way redeem what she did to nicky.

and also, selflessly. because she wants to help him grow and be successful and be happy.

billy created the Road to find tommy, sure. but what he's been doing on the Road is finding community. or rather, getting close to witchfolk to find out who he is in relationship to them, exploring the identity he was born with that he cannot express with his adoptive parents. he started with a lot of silly ideas on what witches should and shouldn't be and created trials that are, let's face it, rather stereotyped and demeaning. next trial is agatha and he is puzzling her out now, willing her to become the ideal witch and mentor he's looking for. he's doing it with the grace of an elephant in a china store, but that's just what being a kid is.

aaand the wall is all the way up and she runs away. but we made some progress there, didn't we?

oh to be a vampire and getting to bite patti lupone's neck

rio looks so engrossed and fascinated listening to lilia! rio just loves people, you know? she loves life in all its multifaceted forms, and that's not at odds with her job description at all. she is The Green Witch, she has embraced nature, which is to say life, so completely that all of it is important and precious to her. my headcanon is that as the original green witch she started ferrying souls because she deeply understood and accepted death as natural and organic and sought to help it along. it's funny, lilia is terrified of her but if asked, rio would have such a long list of things that make lilia special.

and that such a being would fell in love with agatha of all people?? god that is amazing. that is how you write a beautifully doomed epic love story. billions and billions of humans throughout history, and agatha is who caught her eye. and not because agatha is a serial killer mind you, that's just foreplay. it's because she is the most intense, the most interesting human Death ever came across. while others saw a damaged girl, rio saw poetry in her extraordinary complexity

and then, through agatha and nicky, rio experienced grief from a new point of view. Death, no longer impartial.

a wiser future Lilia pays another brief visit

and she's gone. her puzzled little face!

from being awkward and fearing her oddities to laughing with her about it. another step toward a deeper understanding, and acceptance, and love.

look at agatha's body language when she approaches. uncertain, arms crossed. these people have seen her without her mask now, openly weeping about billy

and then she puts her hands in her pockets and postures, ready to underplay things. pppft, crying? moi? you guys must have dreamed it.

alice with her big compassionate heart will never be able to think of agatha as cruel and distant again

agatha picks up rio's flower

rio looks at her

pretends she wasn't looking when agatha looks back

you could cut the damn tension with a knife

jen trying to include agatha??? man they did really see her cying fr

look how interested lilia is! I wish shows could just be 15 hours of women hanging out and chatting, no plot, just vibes

agatha glances at rio as if saying, you know exactly which scar this is. and rio chuckles because she remembers the story. THE INTIMACY BETWEEN THESE TWO. I'm going feral again.

what is this, camaraderie? community? perhaps even, dare I say it, friendship???

agatha doesn't know what to do with herself!

behold the textbook definition of 'awkward turtle'

oh rio's DETERMINED

'no you don't' 'yes I do' STOP IT YOU STUPID GAYS

agatha all casual like honey I've seen every inch of that body

just... the way they fell into a rhythm. the doMESTICITY.

lol jen's and alice's gaydars pinging at the same time. like somETHING FRUITY IS AFOOT. AND WE WOULD KNOW.

and fuck fuck fuck fuck I cannot believe I've run out of space again and I need to do a part 7

LOOK WHAT THESE LESBIANS ARE DOING TO ME (it'll be up in like an hour guys don't worry)

go to episode 4 part 7

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Lucifer Morningstar with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario

warning: language, ooc, possible spoilers from the first season of the 2024 show.

Special thanks to @tonightwrites for helping me with this piece! Enjoy :)

All right, maybe he is moving a little bit fast in falling back in love again but…well, Lucifer will admit that he can’t help himself. That’s just who he is. He’s passionate by nature, and it shows in the super amazing ducks he has created and how he helps Charlie in rebuilding her hotel. Not to mention you were so cute!

Sure, you’re a little stoic and didn’t have a cellphone, and he did mistake you for a human, but that was okay! He thought it was amazing that you were able to grow almost anything in the hotel’s greenhouse! He had to see it to believe it; wire racks of pots in different shapes and sizes, all those flowers and fruits. There were even herbs nearly bundled up and labeled on a wooden table. It was all very meticulously, and everything was well taken care of. He couldn’t find a single sign of neglect. And a single person was responsible for it all? Holy shit. 

Charlie did reassure him that you were very much dead and a sinner. Why you still looked like a human and had freaky skeletal prosthetics, she had absolutely no clue. 

But the cherry on the top was how respectful you were towards him. I mean, when was the last time someone saluted and referred to him as His Majesty? And that look on the Radio Demon’s face when she curtsied to him, the king of Hell? Priceless. 

He did appreciate your honesty, not even holding back when you said that you weren’t sure if a rubber ducky would look all right with the new fountain in the greenhouse. But you did anyway, carefully laying it on top of the water. You looked at for a long moment, expressionless and calm before turning to him and saying that his little creation gave the greenhouse…a more peaceful ambience. 

You thanked him for his contribution, and went right to work, dressed in an apron with a watering can in your gloved hands. At least until the little maid Niffty came in with a big frown on her face, scolding you for trying to skip meals again. You looked at him for help…but unfortunately, he couldn’t help this time, gently pushing out of the greenhouse while Niffty tugged you by the hand. 

You might say that you are used to not eating to accomplish your tasks, though that growling tummy disagrees~!

Whenever he had a moment, he made sure you took breaks and would spend time with you in the greenhouse so you wouldn’t be lonely. He’d tell you stories, share what else he created, and how he’s been wanting to connect with Charlie for so long…yet was so scared and unsure of what he could say to her. Especially after Lilith left Hell without saying a word seven years ago. 

“The important thing is that you are here with her now and support her endeavors, Your Highness. I…did not have a family when I was alive…but I had friends. Friends who supported and loved me, for all the flaws I possessed.” You looked down at your hand, clenching it slowly into a fist. “It was because of them…that I understood many things about myself…and emotions I did not know I had. Grief. Gratitude. Empathy. Guilt. I was on fire, and I did not know it. But I killed many people during the Great War. I was a weapon. That will never change. However,” You then looked at him. “If I am able to accept that I cannot change the past, and find the courage to move forward…how can a sinner not be able to find redemption even if they are dead? I believe…in Charlie. What she is doing. You do too. And I am sure…she is grateful that you finally understand her.”

 If he hadn’t already been in love with you, this would definitely be the moment when he realized how felt towards you. And Charlie, his sweet, smart little girl knew too. 

That was probably why she pulled him aside one afternoon to privately speak in her office. She was obviously….a little freaked out. But he waited until she finished inhaling and exhaling deep breaths, eyes closed, clenching and unclenching her fists, whatever helped her calm down. She then looked him straight in the eye.

“Look Dad, I’m…happy that you’re happy. I mean, it’s really, really obvious that you like [First Name]. Now there’s nothing wrong with that, I’m okay!” She added quickly, waving her hands up and down frantically. “It’s…it’s been a long time since you and Mom split up, and I know you haven’t even thought about anyone else until now. Look,” She took in another deep breath. “I know how…enthusiastic you can get, but as the hotel’s founder and [First Name]’s friend slash employer…tone it down. The flirting, the dad jokes, and….the romance. I know, I know you love romance! But try to be considerate of [First Name], okay? She’s finally learning how to be a human and I don’t want her to feel pressured or uncomfortable or not understand what you’re doing because you’re moving too fast! She’s really, really oblivious! She doesn’t even know Alastor likes her!”

Lucifer stared at Charlie. “Wait…ARE YOU SERIOUS?! SHE-SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW -”

“Dad, please!” 

“IS SHE REALLY THAT CLUELESS?!”

“Yes.” 

To his dismay, you were. You had absolutely no idea that the Radio Demon was besotted with you. He tried to help you around the greenhouse too, invite you to listen to his broadcasts or walks around the nicer parks in the Pride Ring, all the boring stuff an old timer would think count as trying to be romantic. Nope. Nope, nope, this is not happening. Not on his watch!

He will win you over and promise Charlie that he won’t overdo it when he courted you. But could he at least show you how to make a super cool rubber ducky in his workshop, or take you out for a flight with you in his arms? That’s not overdoing it, right? 

…

Maybe? Or should he take you out for some caramel apple pancakes? 

Taglist

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[youcouldmakealife]

2024 Writing Wrap

Well, my goal for 2024 was 225,000 words, and I did exceed that, so I believe that is what we call a success. Never mind that my ~secret goal was 250k and that the 225k goal was just in case anything came up. And it did. So that is technically still a success! So I’m trying not to be grumbly about it.

What I’m not grumbly about at all is how, exactly, that final word count broke down by project (actual numbers below).

I don’t think the COTT and SAIT word counts could be closer than if I’d been intentionally trying to balance them. Which, I cannot stress enough, I was not. I was actually expecting a 2:1 COTT v SAIT ratio, mostly because, well, SAIT hasn’t been easy to write at times, and I was fully prepared for that to continue. But then something happened. I won’t investigate it too closely — gift horses, etc — but the floodgates finally broke, and a character that was so reluctant to speak honestly about himself and his life that it left him (and me) mute was suddenly willing to talk.

(We all know what happened. Robbie Lombardi happened.)

So, coming into this year I set myself a 13 part (approx 27.5k) goal for SAIT, and a 60k goal for COTT. They both ended up around 75k. Add in the SOTWs&Ms, which ended up around 65k combined (goal was 60k), and on all counts, I beat my individual project goals, and absolutely smashed the one for SAIT.

Considering this year I also got the TOTI paperback done and published the final installment of Between the Teeth, I think it was a pretty productive year, particularly considering I was finally diagnosed with Audhd in January, and have spent a lot of time and energy processing that, reframing a lot of things, and adjusting my work style to better accommodate my neurotype.

It's all been a big learning process, though one slightly derailed by the arrival of COVID and the…refusal to leave of COVID…and a fraught one at times, but it’s really been a relief to look at things like ‘this doesn’t work for me because my brain isn’t wired that way’ versus ‘this doesn’t work for me because I’m lazy/not trying hard enough/not living up to my ‘potential’, ad nauseum. It’s been…good. Tough, and emotional, and sometimes exhausting, but good. And I think that might be the other reason that Georgie started to speak again: how the fuck was I supposed to write him starting to move forward when I was still masking? How could I?

Meanwhile my other project was literally ‘okay, what if I worked through some of this by making my ADHD and my autism kiss? What if I did that?’ And COTT has been an absolute delight for me as a somewhat chaotic way for me to examine how these totally different beings co-exist. Throw in me shoving a ton of common romance tropes, gleefully undermining them (sometimes even intentionally! Though COTT can indeed be marked down as yet another failure in my quest to write some proper hate sex), a whole lot of ‘look, he actually gets me’ that is probably a liiiittle too close to home (and, I think, the home of most ND people), and everybody Doing Their Best (even when it fails, even when it doesn’t look like it, even when they aren’t rewarded for that), it is probably the closest thing I’ve ever written to pure Id fic, and I’m including the fucking Scouts here.

So thank you for all being very patient with me working through my ~stuff via narrative, and I’m really glad some of you (Audhd, autistic, ADHD, and otherwise) see yourselves reflected in Holden and/or James as well. Every single thing that annoys about them is probably something I do. (Uh. Off the ice. I don’t throw dirty hits. And I sadly don’t have a hockey room either.) I love them both a lot and I genuinely think my loving them, with all their faults (that are often my faults), has made my relationship with myself better, because I too am Always Doing My Best, even when it doesn’t look like it. And sometimes I forget that.

Okay, enough of the navel gazing, time for numbers!

These may seem slightly different than the word counts on, say, AO3, but at the end of each writing day I log my process. It’s always a little inflated -- some of it ends up on the cutting room floor, some of it applies to works currently still in progress, etc.

But, end of the year, here’s the breakdown*:

*rounded up/down to the nearest thousand, but that was the extent of the rounding, they're just naturally handsome numbers

Cards on the Table: 75k

Still Always in Tandem: 75k

SOTW/Ms and Extras: 82k

(Comprised of: SOTWs: 34k, SOTMs: 33k, Extras 15k)

For a combined total of 232k, squeaking in a mere 7k above my 225k goal.

But wait! There’s the misc (includes some Gritty work, last minute BTT additions, the bracket challenge, and other things that don’t fit the categories above), which adds an additional 13k.

So, in fact, it all adds up to 245k. Which is pretty damn close to 250k in my humble opinion, especially considering I spent a full quarter of 2024 sick. So I think we can call this year a success, at least on the writing front.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Kind of curious how you would think yandere Alucard, Captain, Anderson, and Walter would react to reader trying to escape and how bad would each of their reactions be

TW: mentions of kidnapping, SA, domestic violence, Stockholm syndrome, blood, murder

A/N: included Maxwell because why not?

Alucard

You're constantly on edge, in the middle of a huge croud yet you swear to feel his eyes on you, to see his familiars or even his own silhouette in every dark corner you pass.

It's been days, but that means nothing.

The only reason the strangers around you are still alive is the fact that he wouldn't want Integra to get wind of this.

You clutch the iron cross hard, having braced yourself with all kinds of talisman to ward off evil - but then you hear a familiar voice. Chuckling darkly, amused even. "Oh dear, you don't really think that would keep me away, would you?"

Suddenly you're pulled in by something, swallowed by his shadow. You can't see, you can't hear, you can't breathe.

All you're able to feel is him. He's everywhere.

The Captain

The Millenium soldiers harshly throw you back into his lair, much to your shock having been completely wrecked.

He's turned as soon as he noticed your absence, the huge wolf now lurking right in front of you. It howls at you and you're not able to decipher whether it's out of anger or pain.

You reach out to pat it's head, but it bites down in your arm hard. The two of you stay like this for a while, with you screaming and begging while he seems to contemplate whether to tear off your whole limb or not.

Unable to stay mad at you for too long, he lets go, licking the bitemark he left.

Eventually he turns back, keeping his distance from you, shocked with himself though it is certainly not the first time something like this happened.

There's no other choice than to give in, to run into his arms and cry against his chest as his muscular arms enclose you.

Because you know he'd burn the whole world down just to keep you like this.

Anderson

The Priest is covered in blood, laughing manically as he pulls out his bayonett from a lifeless body. A trail of corpses lies behind him, having killed anyone in a desperate fit of rage.

You cannot suppress a muffled scream seeing this, and instantly crazed eyes lock with yours, a predatory grin stretched across his face. "Found ya'..."

Opposite to your expectations, Anderson throws his weapons aside, falling onto his knees and embracing you in a bonecrushing hug. Fresh blood seeps into your clothes, drying on your skin as he presses a wet kiss into your hair.

"Silly lil' thing" he chuckles in delusion, "If ya' wanted to go outside, ya' could've just said so!"

You hug him back, tears silently running down your cheeks as he hushes you. His tenderness is almost harder to bear than his violence.

Maxwell

"Always the same bullshit with you" he scoffs, dramatically throwing his hands into the air. You weren't even able to leave the Vatican before his men found and returned you, like so often.

"Are you really that dull? You belong to me, why doesn't that go into that thick skull or yours?"

To appease him, you utter countless excuses and affirmations, hoping he'd believe this wasn't about him but rather the circumstances.

Finally he'd stop his rant, looking at you still cowering on the ground, tears dwelling in your eyes.

Seeing you like this and hearing you say those things pulls at his heartstings just the right way, making his boiling blood rush into another direction.

"Say, you'd do anything for me, right?" You nod and his eyes darken. He sighs as he balls a fist in your hair, undoing the zipper of his pants with the other hand. "Then stay down and let's see what apologies that mouth can do."

Walter

The Butler admires his handywork, seemingly satisfied with himself. He got you tied up like a present, his wires relentless against your skin, tightening with every small movement of yours.

He puffs on a cigarette, blowing the smoke right into your face. "Say. It."

"I'm- I'm so-" Before you can even finish the sentence, he pulls on a thread, the stinging pain of it seeping into the flesh of your forearm making you cry out. "Not good enough. Try again."

"I'm so, so sorry, love!" you now practically scream and Walter relishes in your exasperation. You'd be repeating this until you'll believe it yourself.

"You know what?" Walter tells you, his calm smile even more unsettling than his frown. "I forgive you...this time."

He then turns towards the other side of the room, revealing the two policemen you had begged for help. "Now why don't we make this more interesting? Choose who gets to die or I'll kill them both."

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard- Chapter 5: Leap

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

cw: dark themes, suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, *read at your own discretion* take care of yourselves & know that the world is better to have you in it🫶🏻

word count: 3.6k

[<<<chapter 4]

It’s quiet, when you step out onto your balcony. Peaceful. Finally.

The days had come and gone, three, to be exact- after Johnny and Simon had become privy to the king’s violence towards you. And, much to your chagrin, they didn’t seem to believe when you told them you would be fine, that these things happen, and you are not naive enough to believe that they would have never happened to you at some point.

It is a woman’s place in the world, after all, to serve her father, her lords, her husband, her king. Even a queen does not see any favor in this regard, at least not in a way that matters, no, not to you-

”Do you pity me, Ser Simon?”

Your question stumps him for a moment, as he watches you closely, following three paces behind you- no more, no less. He’s watched you stroll through the stables like this, nodding your head so politely, greeting the hands and lords, alike, with a kind smile.

And ever so often, you’ll peek over your shoulder- though, he doesn’t imagine a world where you could possibly think he wouldn’t be there when you cast your fleeting glances.

But pity you? No.. he only pities the king isn’t here right now, so that he could show the man how it feels to have a much stronger hand wrapped around his puny neck-

The thought brings a sneer to his face, one he’s glad you cannot see.

“No, My Queen.”

You stop in front of Johnny’s horse, a tall, leggy beast; his color such a deep chestnut, it almost looks red in the sunlight, save for a perfect white blaze that runs from his forelock to his muzzle-

“I suppose I should be grateful.” You hum with amusement, though your expression is anything but, “Some of us get a taste on our wedding night, hm.. At least I got a few years of peace. If you can call it that-”

He reaches forward without thought, a large, black clad hand coming down tenderly to rest on your forearm,

“Don’t say that-”

A quiet clatter from just outside reminds him of how unduly this might look, how familiar he’s let himself get with you. Simon’s never been one for physical touch, but the small, terribly chaste moments have only grown in abundance. A graze of your hand here, or a brushing of your shoulder there.

He just can’t seem to be close enough to you, and he loathes himself for it-

You watch him step back to a respectable distance before he continues speaking lowly, close enough for you to hear, but far enough to excuse if anyone were to see; you think about how sweetly the tickle of his breath might feel against your skin, and his next words do nothing to chase those thoughts,

“No one deserves that, least of all, you, My Queen.” It’s so hard to keep your eyes forward, your hands feel too idle, your body far too wired, too aware of his proximity, “When a man touches a woman, it should never be out of anger, it should never be to cause pain, or inspire fear.”

His tone dips into a growl at the end, one that causes a deep shiver to creep up your spine and your hair to raise on end,

“No.. Do not be grateful for that- a man’s touch should be kind and gentle, it is a man’s duty to protect and reassure, to give comfort, and pleasure.”

That same shiver turns impossibly hot now, your skin prickling with such a deep-seated desire to know exactly what he means, to know the implications that were implied. But, you could not know, and you know he couldn’t give that to you, try as he might. You wouldn’t let him.

His words ring in your head now, just as loud as they did hours ago. Painfully clear and repetitive, the feelings they brought with it wrapping you in a shroud, one that you can’t quite decide if you like or not- because you can’t tell if it brings you a sense of caring, or if it just reminds you how alone you are in this situation.

But when every direction you look in feels wrong, like a dead end, how else are you suppose to feel? What else can you do?

The winds pick up for a moment as you stare out over the gardens, bringing with it a thick wave of petrichor; the storm moving close enough to scent the air and fill the sky with brilliant flashes of lightning in the distance.

How fitting..

This is good, no one will be out, and the rain will come soon enough to wash you clean of your sins-

Maybe a part of you will stay here with the gardens. You did always enjoy when your mother’s maids would tell their enthralling tales of ghastly apparitions, of the souls who either chose not, or could not, move on to the afterlife- so they stay behind to haunt amongst the living.

The gardens were your solace in life, so perhaps you could find peace in them again- if you could not move on. Or perhaps, your soul might find its way home, where you can watch over your sweet Johnny, see your family grow old.

Poor Johnny.. He’ll be so heartbroken..

Sharp nails dig into the skin of your palms as you scolding your own traitorous thoughts. That’s not what you needed right now, not when you must be resolute and sure. Yes, he will be heartbroken, but he will be alive, he will live out his days just as you made him promise.

And he had promised to go home today, promised to settle the matter of his inheritance and speak with his father- though, it was surely not a one-sided promise. Johnny had only, reluctantly, mounted his horse after you also promised to come visit in two weeks time, just long enough for you to make preparations.

You hated lying to him, you really did, every second of it made you feel ill to your stomach- but, he’s gone, on his way home, safe.

But Simon..

He is standing his post right now, right there. Exactly where he should be. You could go to him, you could demand he take off his helmet so that you may finally, finally see his face, so that he could be the last thing you see before you go-

No, you could never demand something like that of him. What ever reasons he has for hiding his face are his own.. and what would you do if he did remove it, anyway?

Would you ask for a kiss? Or, just that he hold you, truly hold you, just one time-

You can’t help but to smile at your own innocent foolishness; a kiss? To be held? What silly whims..

You did write him a letter, too. And it was difficult, trying to articulate the feelings you have for him, for this man you’ve never seen, this man who by every right, you should not feel anything for- but, you wanted to try.

Because you hope, maybe, that your words will give him some comfort. You don’t want him to feel guilty, or like it might have been his fault- and you have a feeling not many people have expressed such things to a Ghost..

A quiet laugh erupts from your chest then, followed by a choked sort of sound, wet and syrupy and thick in your throat at the terrible, awful idea that one day you might be ghosts together. Right back in the gardens, walking among the fragrant flowers and tall hedges, you might find each other again-

With that thought, and a deep, shaky breath, you lift the skirt of your nightgown and step up onto the lower stone surrounding, lifting your legs up and over the intricate railing one at a time. A hearty gust of wind whips your hair back and forth, and you gasp as you truly take in just how high off the ground you are, your hands gripping the iron beneath them with every bit of strength you have to muster.

But, you don’t feel scared.

You feel an odd rush of excitement, no, that’s not right- it’s far more nuanced than that. And perhaps, it’s just that this is undoubtedly the most reckless and thrilling thing you’ve ever done. The small taste of freedom intoxicating, having rarely, if ever, made a single decision for yourself that was selfish in every facet.

It is a shame, you think, that it took so long. And what if, you don’t do this? Will this confidence still be here tomorrow? Or days from now? Months, when your king is back-

No, no.. don’t do that.

You feel the softest splash of a raindrop on your cheek, then another, more after that. It’s still unseasonably warm out, making the cool liquid feel refreshing against your feverish skin, and the stormy breeze a reprieve.

But, if it all feels so wonderful, like a child again, simply playing in the rain, why do you feel the salty heat of tears mixing with the raindrops?

And why can’t you tell if they’re out of sadness, or relief, or some horrific mixture of the two?

“My Queen.”

At the sound of his voice, the droplets no longer feel good or refreshing, and the wind does not help the burning in your skin because the heat has been replaced with an icy dread. He was not suppose to be here, he shouldn’t have left his post, there couldn’t have been a good reason to, and you told him, you made it very clear that you were not to be disturbed tonight-

“My Queen, don’t move. Let me-”

“No.”

You still haven’t turned to look at him, you can’t, not if you wish to keep the resolve you’ve forged. Because you know, one look at those damned eyes and you would crumble at his feet.

“Go back to your post, Ser Simon.”

He steps closer as you speak, the sound his movements muffled by your voice, and the now howling winds that blow wildly around you. This is something he never imagined to see, not now, and certainly not when you had left him outside your chambers door.

He knew you were grieving seeing Johnny go- no matter the forced smiles, he knew your expressions, he could read you like a book. But, this..

Once again he finds himself internally cursing his own ineptitudes because how could he make the same mistake again? How could he not see that he let a monster into your room and locked you in with it.

“Come down, and I will.”

You bark out a laugh, your fingers growing fatigued and your legs beginning to tremble as you hold on,

“Do not forget your place, good Ser.. You do not command me, and I have no patience for your bargaining.”

The words feel like the most bitter of poisons on your tongue, but you ground them out anyway. If you could just push him away, if you could make him go- then you can finish this. You can save him, save him from yourself, and the stain you would leave on his name, his very life.

“You’re right.. I’m sorry, My Queen. But, please-”

Simon can feel the edges of his nerves fraying in every direction as he speaks that one helpless plea, his knees feel weaker than ever before, his fingers twitch and clench together, longing desperately to reach for you- to pull you away from danger, pull you into his arms, and never let you go because he cannot lose you. Not when he’s only just found you. And certainly not like this.

He would drop to his knees and vow all over again, vow on his life, that he will make you see how worthy you are to be in this world, and that it is the world that is not worthy of you. But, he’s also seen this before, seen good soldiers lose battles that are quiet, invisible to everyone around them. Hells, he’s been to the depths of his own mind, and it nearly saw the end of him-

“No, Simon.” Your voice is surprisingly confident and steeled as you squint against the rain, your nightgown clinging to your goose pimpled skin and your hair stuck in thick strands across your face, “I do not want you to be here. I relieve you of this responsibility- and please know, that this is of no fault of your own. You are good, and kind, and you have been-”

A small sob wracks through you, knowing that you are just prolonging the inevitable, knowing that all you are doing now is subjecting him to your own unguided anguish.

So, so selfish.. He will be better without you-

“Look at me,” He calls out your name, and you almost give in, almost.

“No. NO. I cannot do that, and you know I can’t. I can’t live like this, but if I stay, or if I run, people I love will be hurt- and I cannot see that happen. I cannot live my life in fear of my husband’s hand. I do not want to be his plaything, or his broodmare, but I have nothing else! This is all I was ever meant to be- it’s all I’ve never known, but you can’t possibly understand.”

Slowly, you pry one hand open, and that thrilling rush of terror and anticipation floods you again, the ground below doesn’t look so far away now, and the gardens are right there, a pretty view-

”I’m so sorry.”

“No! LOOK. AT. ME!”

Something in his voice, in the unwavering, undeniable authority and desperation makes your head turn without permission. Through the mist and shadows, you see his familiar armor glinting in the sparse, pale rays of moonlight that have fought their way through the clouds. But, that’s not what makes your eyes widen, and your jaw to go slack.

It’s his helmet hanging loosely from the tips of his fingers, his face- his face- bared to you, dark hair matting to his forehead under the weight of the water, amber eyes intense and focused,

“Simon..”

You blink in surprise when he thrusts the helm towards you suddenly, his dark eyebrows furrowing as he all but glares back at you, and gods, you wish you could just see him better- see the soft angle of his nose in proper lighting, and the dark scar that runs across the bridge of it,

“Take it. It is yours now.” He demands, stepping close enough for you to reach for it if you choose, “I swore my life to you, and I meant it, every word. To defend you from harm or threat.”

One more step.

“To obey your commands. To defend your honor and your name. To counsel if requested, and remain silent and steadfast at your side otherwise. To never wed, take no land, and father no children.”

Again, he pushes it closer, looking down at it with anger and fondness before looking back up to you; and the most errant thought crosses your mind of how many people he’s ever actually had to cast his eyes upward for,

“My life is yours, My Queen. I.. am yours.”

No. No. You can’t, and you shouldn’t- and yet, your hand reaches forward, your fingers shaking, and your cheeks so covered with tears that you don’t know where they stop and the rain begins.

The steel is cold and wet, and you hardly feel the weight of it at all as you stare down at the angular cutouts for his eyes, wide and sharp; the raised crest that runs vertically from the peak of his face shield to the very back. You’ve always thought his armor to be such a beautiful amalgamation of elegant lines and aggressive angles, which seeing his face now, you can see how it matches him so perfectly-

A very unladylike shriek parts your lips the moment your fingers find purchase, Simon using your hold on his helmet to jerk you forward, and in the blink of an eye, a strong arm loops around your waist as he pulls you up and over the railing,

“Simon! No!”

But, it’s too late, and his hold on you is too strong. It doesn’t hurt, and it doesn’t feel angry, or out of spite- quite the opposite, in fact. While his arms are unmovable, he has you clutched to his chest with an arm around your torso and one supporting your legs as he carries you into the dry warmth of your rooms, helmet long forgotten on the cold stone outside.

“You can’t-”

He sets you on your feet, but his hands don’t stray far- and now that you’ve lost your height advantage you’re left in awe at how large he looms over you, holding your arms before he’s yanking the soaked gloves off between his teeth,

“I can.” Simon growls, placing a wide palm on either side of your face, calloused thumbs gently wiping the rain and tears away, “Go on, little queen, tell me what I can’t do, and I’ll show you exactly what I will.”

Your lip quivers pathetically as you look up at him, “He will kill us for this..”

You have no doubts of this, it is one of the many reasons why you wanted to leap from that balcony, so that you did not have to live this insidious façade anymore- because you couldn’t, you couldn’t have Simon at your side and not have these thoughts, these feelings, insatiable and unquenchable. And to know he could possibly feel the same-

“The king’s head would fall before he ever laid another hand on you.”

The air around you itself seems to grow hot and heady at his words, at the minuscule distance between his lips and yours; lips that are scarred and flushed a deep pink, so beautifully offset from his pale skin,

“You’re a mad man.” You whisper.

And, oh, the way those lips pull into a smile you have longed to see- his eyes crinkling around the edges. It is not a handsome smile, no. It is willful and amused, and broad, and wonderful, as a laugh rumbles through him,

“Now that, My Queen, I am..”

But maybe it is you who are the mad one, or it could still be the adrenaline pumping through your system, hazing your mind and your inhibitions, or that now prevailing desire to simply make decisions for yourself- to be selfish.

Either way, you’re the one who leans forward, wrapping your arms around his neck in order to pull yourself up enough to crush your lips against his. To finally feel everything you’ve dreamt of, the wonders you’ve fantasized, all of them centered around your guard, your dark knight. And here he is, right at your fingertips, his mouth moving so naturally, so perfectly in sync with yours.

Kissing Simon is unlike anything you ever felt with your King, it is reverent and gradual, like he wants to learn you, to know you intrinsically, intimately, to worship you first and foremost- the way his hands hold you so tenderly, his fingers tangling in your mess of wet hair, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss slowly and thoroughly.

But, too soon, he pulls away; sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as if to savor just the taste of you, his eyes darker than you think you’ve ever seen, and your name spoken like a quiet prayer, begging you to relent, pleading for you to keep him a honorable man- as honorable as a man like him can be.

“Please, My Queen..”

You look up at him again, his hands still holding your face as you lean away, letting your own hands slide over the sleek surface of his spaulders all the way down to hold his wrists, feeling his skin hot and damp under yours,

“You’ve felt the same things?” You ask meekly, ashamed of your own lack of self-esteem.

Simon tilts his head to the side, eyes darting back and forth with not only disbelief, but concern and wonder, another smile tugging up the left corner of his mouth. It’s softer this time, one that only serves to make you melt further into him as he speaks,

“Yeah, sweet girl, I have. I hadn’t felt anything for a long, long time before I met you. Got to know you from afar, got to see the way you treat those around you even when they don’t deserve it-”

He leans down to press his forehead to yours,

“You called me good, and kind, but I couldn’t disagree more. Because it’s only for you. You showed me what humanity can be, you gave me hope in what I’ve fought for my whole life, since I was old enough to wield a sword. I’ve won wars for old wretches, and young bastards, who’ve never even seen the soil on a battlefield..”

You hang on to his every word, relishing in his thick accent, memorizing every sound to his voice because you don’t think he’s ever spoken so much in one sitting,

“But you.. little queen, have given me a hope I thought was long lost. A hope for somethin’ more, a reason for the atrocities committed at my hand.”

He kisses you this time, it’s quick and soft, but somehow even better than the first one, somehow you feel more behind it, you feel so much of him that it steals the breath from your lungs,

“I’m goin’ to get you out of here. I swear it.”

thank you for being here 🥹

[chapter 6>>>]

[multiheadcanons]

TF2 MERCS AND GAMES

scout: the boy loves an fps, though is pretty good at most any game you set in front of him. nobody ever wants to play a video game with him. sucks at cards though. lost his entire first check to a drunk demo on poker night. that is when he found out he did not know the rules of poker. good sport about losing games because it happens so rarely, but a very sore winner. you would think he’s never won anything in his life ever. also a casual enjoyer of puzzles.

soldier: soldier is a cheater. a damn good one at that. one of the few people to beat scout in any game of scout’s choice, bar a good old foot race. and that’s because scout doesn’t know that one of the controllers suck, the port that holds the controller’s wire is loose (he bribed spy for that), and if you tap the tv the wrong way the screen will glitch. but soldier does. also a fat cheater at board games. hides money and cards under his helmet and will DIRECTLY LIE ABOUT THE RULES. medic refuses to play with him because he’s a cheater but nobody believes medic because medic is also…. a fucking cheater.

pyro: those little hand games where you have to know the rhymes? pyro loves those. that can keep them entertained for HOURS. their favorite is the susie had a steamboat one because almost cursing makes them giggle. has a mutual agreement with medic that they will play their respective games with each other since they have both been found guilty in game court and banned. pyro set the board on fire in an act of rage at the possibility that they might go bankrupt, and demo argued it was cheating. gets really good luck on card pulls. won a jackpot at blackjack on an off night at the casino. they donated most of the money to a shelter and threw the rest off a building to the people below. they just…. they didn’t take the cash out of the bag? and is now wanted for questioning of negligent manslaughter.

demo: demo is a card shark; and he will not play for anything less than money and privileges. past that, he likes a good board game until the middle of the game. he’s the kind of guy who makes real-life deals to win a game of monopoly. sore loser, to the point where he’ll start a fistfight if he suspects cheating. he banned medic, engie, and pyro from team game nights because they’re all cheaters. in his defense, he did hold a trial against him all, and they were all found guilty. would probably like dungeons and dragons, but has never played.

heavy: heavy is not much of a game player, but he joins in on game nights because it’s good bonding. a great player because he’s a wild card with no care for the rules, and likes to watch scout lose, as boring as it is to watch him go “good game!”. it takes everyone teaming against scout, but if heavy’s playing, people can breathe a little easier knowing that it’ll be a close game at worst and a total toss up at best. slow decision maker. pyro tried to teach him a hand game once, he didn’t care for it. he also knows that soldier is a cheater, but doesn’t have the heart to get a fourth person banned from game nights because of cheating. he still misses watching the doctor suck at cheating. kind of thinks cheating is in the essence of competitive games. is not a cheater himself. average luck on card pulls. enjoys dominoes.

engineer: also really likes hand games. slaps hands too hard because he gets too into it. pyro never minds that. also a card shark with a mean poker face. also plays go and chess; he’s pretty good but there’s no real competition in the base for him to really hone those skills. also banned from monopoly nights because he was found guilty of cheating, so now on game nights they play uno instead in the next room. a graceful loser, and a sore winner. he’ll shove it down your throat if you lost.

medic: medic is a cheater. a bad one. and a sore player in general. he cannot help himself but to cheat at competitive games, and finds cooperative games boring. insult hurler when things go awry. was the one who actually initiated and created the team court for game night issues, and was the first to be held to trial and found guilty. that infuriated him. he lunged at demo when the verdict came in. LOVES a good card game though, his favorite is speed. don’t even make eye contact he will seduce you to the table with humble promises of him keeping his old hands limber, beat you undebatably and patronize you after, promising you’ll get him next time. and you’ll do it again because he’s like a game playing succubus who wants to slowly crush people’s spirits through the game of speed. it’s like he gets off on it. the closest anyone got is scout and they tied. it almost started a fight because scout would not agree to a rematch, and medic refused their rightful tie. tie refuser. surprisingly graceful winner and loser. but in the midst of the game all bets are off with him. also a fist fighter when it comes to games, and has knocked boards over before. he knows soldier is a cheater and brings it up every time they get ready to play and nobody believes him. he once bribed pyro to burn the game trouble because he was rolling like dog shit and couldn’t get the dice out to weight them.

sniper: snipes dms a dungeons and dragons campaign under an alias online that consists of six party members. he’s a bit of a hardass dm, but he’s become pretty good friends with john from the party, he thinks. good guy, couple of kids and a wife, no known bounty on his head. hates any other game. will reluctantly play poker and then quit after the first hand. frankly just a quitter of games in general. hates competitive games with his team because they all act like they have no sense. it’s like literally playing with children. is normally the peacekeeper for team game nights and will refuse to play because medic and demo fight people over little shit. his most common phrase is “it’s a GAME, YOU CUNTS”. prefers single player games. he’ll schedule his dnd sessions on game nights if he doesn’t want to deal with them. will occasionally indulge pyro in a hand game or two if they ask, though the first time pyro did ask sniper leaned in close and said “do not ask me unless you have asked everybody else and exhausted them”. occasionally indulges medic in a FRIENDLY GAME of uno. will quit the second medic starts getting snappy with him, so the doctor has had to learn that if he wants to play with snipes he’s gotta be nice because “i’m not gonna play your stupid game if you’re gonna act like a dick!”

spy: is one of the party members in snipe’s dnd group, under the identity “john”. he’s really enjoying it and the freedom of being someone else who’s pretending to be something else for fun and not for profit. can’t always join board game nights on the base because dnd sessions fall on the same day sometimes. though he’ll go afk and even miss sessions to watch the fights when they get rowdy, but because “john” has built good rapport with snipes he never complains about the occasional disappearance, though none of the other players are really given that same grace. has a dice collection he paid a lot of money for that he’ll occasionally gift a set to snipes as “john” to keep in his dm’s good graces. tries to join on the poker games when he can, it’s easy money when medic isn’t playing and demos too trashed to see. also plays solo games like solitaire. will never play hand games with pyro. has bad luck with cards he didn’t shuffle.

[bitethedevil]

How do you think your take on Raphael differs from other fandom favourites? What is your “brand of Raphael?”

Oooh interesting question. I don’t really know how he’s different from other writers’ version of him. I try my hardest not to compare my own writing too much to others. I can say how I interpret him though. I’ll go through a couple of points of how I see him:

Soft!Raphael or Dark!Raphael

I get a lot of Soft!Raphael recommendations in my inbox. There’s nothing wrong with that. I love reading Soft!Raphael, but it just doesn’t fit my own personal interpretation of him. I have written countless of character analyses on this man and my brand of Raphael just isn’t that soft. I think he is capable of being soft, but it’s performative and there is always a purpose with it or a goal to achieve.

He does not love. He wants someone to love him, but he cannot give it in the way that we understand it. He can obsess though. His love is that feeling when your crush finally gives you positive attention. That thrill that you can almost get high on that you want to seek again and again. That thought that there is a chance that they will one day be yours, that need for them to one day be yours. That's him.

The feeling of laying in bed, looking at someone and feeling that warmth inside you and the feeling of wanting to protect them at any cost, is not him. He might want to protect his ‘loved one’ but it will be for purely selfish reasons. It is more akin to wanting to protect an asset of yours so others can’t take it from you.

It’s ownership, it’s obsession. There is also a game behind it. He wants to see how much he can push someone to see how loyal they are, and he does not care that he might hurt the other person in the process.

He can imitate love though! He can create the perfect picture of a loving relationship if he wants to, but it is a façade to keep you as his. He is a Venus flytrap, that lures you in with its sweet petals and when you fall for it, they close around you so he can devour you. He is capable of being romantic and doing loving gestures, but it is not instinct for him and there is always a goal behind it.  

Good/Evil

I don’t believe he is evil (hear me out). I don’t believe anyone is evil ‘just because’. I don’t really believe in evil characters in media, not when I consume media and not when I write it. I’m not blind and I know he is a Literal Devil, but I am just not wired that way. I grew up with theater. There are no evil characters, just characters who might have a fucked-up motivations for whatever reasons.

Raphael does do things that are morally considered evil, there is absolutely no doubt about it. However, when analyzing him and writing him, I try to refrain from writing him as such. The fact that he is considered evil without question in that universe is always taken into consideration though.

Raphael needs to fit into the Hells, and he is already on the back foot when it comes to that, because he is a cambion. I’m not saying he doesn’t enjoy doing what he does, he obviously does, I’m just saying that there is a reason for it.

Even those who are fully devils literally thinks they are doing the right thing. They think that they are protecting the rest of the realms from demons through the Blood War, and they will do everything to do so. That includes doing a lot of straight up heinous shit.

I’m just saying that judging him from ‘mortal’ standards is a bit of a lost battle. He isn’t a mortal. He isn’t quite a devil either, though that is the role he definitely prefers between the two. I just think a lot of nuances are lost if you just boil it down to “well he does (insert thing that is morally wrong from human standards) so he is evil”.

I think that is also generally why I usually refrain from the ‘opposites attract’ trope, because it very often is the typical metaphorical angel/classic hero vs literal devil/classic villain. Those stories are fun! I love to read them, but I don’t like writing them. It doesn’t interest me.

It is much more interesting for me to put him with someone ‘normal’ or morally grey, because there is something so deliciously fucked by a person slowly realizing that they actually have a lot in common with someone who is considered the embodiment of evil. They might also begin to understand his motivations and why he is as he is, and that’s almost even worse because that means the evil can be rationalized and understood (understood being the keyword, not forgiven, which is important to point out). Then it becomes a dance between humanizing him and demonizing him for how he really is.

There are humanizing qualities to be found in him, and there are definitely demonizing qualities to be found in him as well, which I find interesting. It’s a ‘what’s normal to a spider is chaos for the fly’-kind of thing for me, if that even makes sense? There is purpose to his ‘evil’ and yes, he does enjoy it, but there is much more to it.

“The Game”/His performativity

Everything is a performance, and though he never lies, it is difficult to know what he is actually thinking behind that wall of theatrics. It’s one big game to him of making you believe in the performance, and I think that is where he really thrives.

Though what is interesting is what hides behind the performance and the few times one might catch him in a moment of being genuine. That is what I love to work with when I write him. Because he keeps a diary, and we know from that diary that there are definitely some insecurities that he would never reveal to anyone (such as his nightmare about Tav and gang).

He is an arrogant bastard, but I truly think he is hiding mountains of insecurities behind it (and of course. Why wouldn’t he be? As a cambion, he isn’t really accepted by neither devils nor mortals, though he is both). Though you would never know it from how he acts, this man is no stranger to fear. It also makes perfect sense. He would not have survived in the Hells as a cambion, if he did not have a good sense of self-preservation.

‘He only ever sleeps with himself’, yes, well, doesn’t that also seem wonderfully safe and known? There is more behind his selfishness and ego. He does not let people in if he can avoid it. Cambions are often solitary by nature. I’ve mentioned this before. He might make deals with people, and he sees other people constantly, but never anyone he lets in, and he does not let them get too close.

Haarlep says he can’t deny them anything, but I don’t even truly believe that he has let Haarlep in completely. The man keeps his cards so close to his chest and one of the reasons for that is to not show weaknesses, because that is what he has had to do to survive and succeed.

What a lonely existence that must be, when one considers that there might be a human part of him that longs for that acceptance and closeness. He might not be able to love in the way that we do, but devils can long for it. Even more so when a part of him is human.

(Thank you for the ask <3 really cool question)

[bi-focal12]

i watched that hallmark movie "three wise men and a baby" with my mom tonight and had this little bkdk brain worm. please enjoy.

bkdk meet cute (but really it's a meet awkward) (they make it work)

“I cannot fucking believe you’re doing this to me.” 

“Doing what?” Denki replied glibly, palming through a handful of bills as he checked and rechecked the cash register in front of him. 

Katsuki leaned forward, bracing his hands on the thin stretch of countertop separating them, gratified to notice Denki taking a small step backward.  

“Ruining my fucking life.”

Denki sighed, lowering his hands as he finally turned to meet Katsuki’s gaze. “It’s just for the day,” he promised, “and you lost rock paper scissors fair and square!”

“I didn’t know the stakes!” Katsuki shot back. 

Denki rolled his eyes as he pushed the cash register closed and ducked behind the counter, returning with the source of the awful squawking that had been invading Katsuki’s eardrums since the second he set foot in Denki’s stupid bookstore. 

“Sir Papolapodous isn’t even that much work.”

“Sir what?”

“Welcome in!” Denki called, responding to the chime of the front door while Katsuki continued to stare down the bright yellow monstrosity being carted off on him for the afternoon. 

As if sensing its imminent doom, the bird began messing with the door to its cage.  

“Just watch out,” Denki continued, “sometimes he likes to-”

Katsuki ducked as the bird launched itself out of the cage. 

“...escape.”

“What the fuck?” Katsuki shouted, pressing his knuckles to his cheek where the damn thing had scratched him. His fingers came back bloody. “Oi, I’m not watching your stupid flying machete for-” 

“Here!” Denki said, hastily rifling into another bag sitting on the countertop and retrieving some sort of pellet thing that he balanced on Katsuki’s shoulder. “He’ll come to you! Watch!”

Katsuki froze. “Hey, I don’t want that thing anywhere near-”

“Sir Papolapodous!” Denki cheered happily, eyes somewhere beyond Katsuki’s right shoulder. Katsuki tensed. 

The demon landed easily on his shoulder, snatching up the pellet and chirping loudly in Katsuki’s ear. Like a threat. Right beside Katsuki’s vulnerable, jugular-having throat. 

“Aw,” Denki cooed. “He likes you!”

“I’ll roast him,” Katsuki warned. “Don’t you leave me with it.” 

Denki gently pushed the bag from earlier towards Katsuki. “I left you instructions.”

“Stab. Pluck. Spin over fire.”

The bird nudged Katsuki’s cheek and Katsuki flinched away, jerking his shoulder to dislodge the pest. 

The bird ignored his efforts. 

“Seriously, Katsuki,” Denki whined, pressing his palms together, “I need to go to the dentist but I’ll be back before close and- hey, maybe some of the customers will get a kick out of seeing him!”

“Yeah, if they like their books covered in shit,” Katsuki complained. 

“No, no, he’s cage-trained,” Denki promised, untying his worker’s apron and hanging it up behind the counter. “Take good care of my son please!”

Katsuki made a face of utter disbelief. “Hey, I agreed to watch your stupid store, loser. Not to become a fucking Wild Kratt!”

Denki quickly hopped over the counter and out of Katsuki’s reach. 

“Two in one package!”

The bell rang loudly in Katsuki’s ears as Denki completed his cowardly retreat. 

“Fucking asshole,” Katsuki muttered. “Cavity-ridden, dead-brain, no-good, ass-”

“Excuse me?” someone said politely. 

Katsuki spun on his heel- perhaps a shade too quickly, or perhaps with too much bird launching off his shoulder because the customer fell flat on their ass with a startled shout, leaving Katsuki awkwardly looming over them. 

“Ow.”

Belatedly, Katsuki leaned down to offer his hand. 

The demon watched them from atop the nearest shelf of books. 

“I- I’m so sorry,” the guy stammered out, straightening his wire-rim glasses and reaching gratefully for Katsuki’s hand. “I- I really wasn’t expecting that.”

“‘S no problem,” Katsuki replied, curiously shelving the guy’s meekness next to his solid, heavy build as he hauled him up. His hands were incredibly scarred and calloused for someone who jumped at the sight of house pets- demonic or not- but Katsuki supposed he’d give him a pass, considering Katsuki’s own near-death experience was still dripping down his face. “Don’t think anybody expects to get dive bombed by a parakeet on a Sunday morning. Unless you’re a fucking vet or something, I guess.”

“That- that’s true,” the guy said, stumbling a bit as Katsuki righted him, one hand landing briefly on Katsuki’s chest. 

With his head ducked in embarrassment, the guy only came up to Katsuki’s chin but even so, he looked like he could give Katsuki a run for his money on the sparring mat. Katsuki was just about to ask what kind of workouts the did when the guy murmured, 

“Pecs.”

Katsuki blinked. “Pecks?”

The guy’s head snapped up towards Katsuki’s, wide-eyed and pale in his freckled face. 

“God dammit, did that thing fucking peck you?” Katsuki groaned, turning to glare at the preening beast. “‘Cause I can give you a fucking discount on whatever you came in here for before I string him up by his stupid little talons.”

“Wha-? Ah, no! No, no, no,” the guy assured, frantically waving his hands in front of himself. 

Large hands, Katsuki noticed. One of which had been resting warmly over Katsuki’s shirt a moment ago. 

“That won’t be necessary!” 

“Then why’d you-?”

“Pet!” the guy corrected, freckles now washed out by a steady shade of pink. “I’m a…pet…” His eyes darted nervously to the left before snapping back to Katsuki. “...therapist.”

His eyes were a very fucking bright shade of green. 

Katsuki blinked slowly as he registered the words that had come out of Greenie’s mouth- taking in the embarrassed tilt to the guy’s lips. His fitted T-shirt. His obnoxiously bright red shoes. Frankly, he looked like he got dressed in the dark. 

Katsuki wet his lips. “A pet therapist,” he repeated blandly. 

“Ah..mhm,” the guy said, nodding. “So, um, so the dive bombings really aren’t that odd,” he added, tacking on an airy laugh. 

Katsuki continued to stare at him, because clearly one of them had taken on major brain damage in the past five minutes, and considering that this guy’s shirt said tuxedo and had a growing hole along the shoulder seam, Katsuki really hoped it wasn’t himself. 

The man gestured vaguely to the shelf behind him. “That’s really a lovely bird you’ve got there, um…?”

“Katsuki,” he supplied. 

“Izuku,” the man smiled, offering out his hand. “Izuku Midoriya.”

Warily, Katsuki shook it. “...Pet therapist,” he repeated. 

“Yup!” Izuku said in a high voice, smiling wider. “That’s me. Therapizing the pets.” 

“Right,” Katsuki replied, because what the fuck was even happening, “well, if you’re looking for a book, we uh…have them.”

Internally, Katsuki cringed. Then he sent a seething, telepathic complaint to Denki because Katsuki had been fired from his one and only customer service job at fifteen and the universe had never made the mistake of putting him in that position ever again for a reason.

Fucking rock paper scissors. 

“Right,” Izuku mimicked, his thousand-watt smile pressing flat with amusement. His stupid green eyes were practically dancing with mirth and Katsuki suddenly felt very warm in the face- alone in a bookstore with a yellow, dive-bombing demon and a man with a fake-sounding job and no sense of color coordination and a very firm handshake. 

Katsuki crossed his arms over his chest, ever so slightly jutting out his chin. He could still feel the outline of a hand where the guy had caught himself against Katsuki. 

“What kinda book does a pet therapist need, anyway?”

The guy continued to blink up at Katsuki for a moment before coming to his senses with a startled, “Oh! I was wondering if you had any comics, actually. All Might, specifically.”

Katsuki raised an interested brow, looking between something-Midoriya, the demon from hell, and then Midoriya again. 

Katsuki had absolutely zero idea what sorts of books Denki had in stock, let alone if he carried the single most greatest graphic novel series of Katsuki’s youth. 

Still, he clicked his tongue. “Let’s find out.”

[tobiasdrake]

I've been loving your talks over the different dynamics between the various cast members of Dragonball and am kinda surprised no one's asked this one yet and you only really gave it a brief mention.

I would like to hear about Goku and Krillin's dynamic. They're the two I love seeing interact the most together and would love to see your takes and analysis.

Goku loves Krillin. Krillin is up there with Bulma, Chi-Chi, and Gohan in the category of Most Important People to him.

(No snubbing intended towards Goten; It's just that we've never gotten to see Goku and Goten spend any amount of time together, like, at all. We have no idea what their relationship is.)

It's honestly surprising how tight Goku and Krillin's bond is despite how little time they've ever spent with one another.

Although they started out, uh... rocky....

But that only lasted like a day. By the time their training started, it was water under the bridge.

I cannot in good conscience call Goku and Krillin inseparable because they separate for years at a time. That's how Goku is; He goes off on his own and does his own thing, only rarely checking in with his friends. This training session only lasted eight months, and then Krillin didn't see Goku for three years (save for the General Blue mini-arc of RRA.)

But when they are together, they're practically brothers - Even helping each other strategize during the Tenkaichi Budokai.

As an aside, I love the fact that not only is Krillin canonically noseless, it's not just art style, but also he hallucinates smells to compensate. Krillin imagines he's smelling whatever he thinks he should be smelling.

Wonder if he's ever made any bad assumptions?

In any case, the tactical advice isn't one-way either. Krillin helped Goku workshop his match with Tenshinhan too.

Goku was able to solve the Taiyoken/Solar Flare because, in every tournament, he's always got Krillin at his side to talk things over with and discuss the match. At every tournament, Yamcha's the guy who knows all the martial arts lore:

While Krillin is Goku's bestie and sounding board, cheering each other on from backstage and discussing what they're seeing in other matches.

It should be noted that Yamcha's a bro too, he just doesn't get the screentime that Krillin does. He's out of the 22nd Tenkaichi Budokai almost as quickly as it begins, in a way that doesn't let him hang around post-defeat and keep chilling with the others.

He also dies very early in the Saiyan battle so he doesn't get to stick around for the Vegeta dogpile, and then consequently misses the boat on Namek. So his relationship to Goku and Krillin doesn't get to be explored in nearly as much detail as Krillin's relationship to Goku.

Meanwhile, Goku and Krillin's tight bond of mutual respect and trust has saved the world.

It has also endangered the world.

Don't mind him, that's just Krillin over there supporting what he strongly believes to be an apocalyptic mistake because he loves and respects Goku enough to back him up even when he's wrong. Krillin has to make a choice between Goku's desire to fight Vegeta again and win next time, versus the fate of the Earth. He chooses Goku.

Though it did ultimately work out for the best.

In fact, this was his, Gohan's, and Goku's victory together right down to the wire. It was Goku who made Gohan an Oozaru.

But it was Krillin who made it work, by re-evaluating what he knew about the Oozaru and incorporating Saiyan psychology.

Hahaha it turns out Oozarus have been intelligent all along. It's just that transforming fills them with hyper-violent Saiyan aggression. Wonder if that's going to come up with any other transformations in the future?

Krillin, Goku, and Gohan all earned this victory together. And then Krillin and Goku chose to endanger the Earth for Goku's self-interest together.

Though it did ultimately work out for the best. In part because of Krillin's own machinations.

Dragon Ball is very much a protagonist-centric series. It's the story of Son Goku, even when it briefly tries to be the story of Son Gohan. And so what Krillin means to Goku extends outwards to what Krillin means to Dragon Ball as a whole.

And what Krillin means to Goku (and what Goku means to Krillin) is a lot.

Their relationship flourishes onscreen any time they're together. There's never any doubt that these two can rely on one another to have each other's back.

It's Krillin who even makes the plan to go to Namek in the first place.

It's Krillin whose mind Goku consults for guidance and a recap of what happened on Namek.

And it's Krillin who lights the spark of Goku's ascension.

Of all the humans, Krillin is easily the most important. The one with the most screentime, narrative focus, and examination of his relationship with Goku - A relationship that is depicted, every time it's onscreen, as a powerful bond of respect, teamwork, and love for one another.

Goku comes back to life after seven years of absence and Gohan is the first to jump him, followed by Krillin and then Chi-Chi. Goku's first order of business is meeting his son.

Followed immediately by interrogating Krillin on his family life.

This is just. This is what their relationship is. It honestly doesn't even feel like there's a lot that can even be said about them, because their relationship barely changes or grows in any way; It simply is. A bond of brotherhood carved in stone from very early in the series, that never wavers in its course.

[lottesreads]

Why Me? - Part 6

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Mitchell! Female Reader (Callsign Mantis)

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, bruises, (someone gets punched), details of panic attacks, swearing, one "daddy" joke, pining, big Rooster warning here, mommy issues, mentions of death, insecurities

Word Count: 5860

Summary: Going over flight maneuvers for the day doesn't go as everyone planned. Somethings from your past get revealed, and you grow a little closer to Bob.

A/N: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS, this one is a little heavier and angstier, so I apologize for that. Things will get better though! Also, sorry for taking so long, I started a new job and had to take two tests so yay for me.

Masterlist

After what you are now calling the most awkward lunch ever, the day goes by… fine. The squad spends the remaining hours listening to feedback from your father, which surprisingly doesn’t ruffle anyone’s feathers too much. You pin it on the fact that it’s a Friday and everyone just wants to get out as soon as they can. You, of course, want to get out of there as well to spend time with Bob, and finally meet Sylvia. From all the pictures you’ve seen and how Bob describes her, she seems like the perfect dog.

But you’re also thinking about what Phoenix propositioned Bob with as well. It had sent you spiraling. All you can think about as Mav drones on about Payback and Fanboy’s practically perfect barrel roll, is how Bob is being set up with this woman. A woman, might you add, that he has never met or heard of before this day. You can’t help but stare straight in front of you, right at the back of Bob’s head. You’re able to see the tiniest bit of his profile, the wire frames peaking out atop his cheek. You’d like to believe you aren’t jealous. But history proves this wrong time and time again. This woman is just another thing you can add to the ever-growing list.

Bob turns his head ever so slightly, catching a glimpse of you staring out of his peripheral vision. You immediately look down at your papers, attempting to act as if you’re in deep thought about what Payback and Fanboy could have done better. Your eyes stay still on the paper as your brain moves a million miles a minute. God, Bob. Why did he have to be such an amazing person? You would have been able to move on if you had gotten to know him and realized he had a crappy personality, but unfortunately that is not the case. Now you’re stuck feeling jealous over some random woman who has no idea the implications of her attending Phoenix’s party next weekend. You chance a glance back up to Bob’s face and find that he’s already turned back to look at you.

“Mantis”, he whispers as he motions his head to the front of the room, right where your dad is staring you down.

“Sir”, you say, straightening up in your own seat. He raises his brow in a warning, as you shift your attention to the screen, seeing now that your own flights are up for critique.

“Thank you. Now that I have your attention, I have to say I am seeing noticeable room for improvement.” He turns back from the screen, pointing to where you took too sharp of a turn, or where you needed to slow down. You write down everything he says, even as the tips of your ears begin to burn in embarrassment. He is your captain, you know this. Everyone else knows this, but they also know what it feels like to get scolded by a dad. And you can’t help but see the similarities at this moment. He finally finishes after what feels like an eternity as he looks back at you, “Any questions?”

“No sir”, you respond bluntly. He was being nitpicky, for once in his life, and you weren’t sure what caused it at this moment. But you’re still a little confused at what you thought was a perfect run.

“Alright Rooster, you’re up.” You glance over to Rooster’s hard stare as he brings his gaze to the front of the room. You cannot wait to see your dad rip him a new one. It’s what he deserves, and honestly you could fly circles around this guy. “I have to say, I am thoroughly impressed with your work today.” Wait, what? Rooster’s face softens into a slight grin as your brow furrows in his direction. Folding your arms across your chest you sink back into your chair, watching as your dad gives Rooster a glowing review. An undeserved one in your opinion. And then Mav decides to tell you one of the worst ideas he’s ever had.

“Single-seaters, I’m gonna put you in groups and you’re going to go over the notes I gave you to hopefully help you execute these maneuvers better. Two-seaters, you’re going to do the same, but with your pilots and your WSO’s.” At this point, you’re just hoping you’re with Coyote or Fritz, hell, even Hangman. Mav looks down at his podium, going over the list before announcing them, “Fritz and Coyote, you’re a pair. And then we’ll have Rooster, Hangman, and Mantis as a group.”

“Jesus Christ”, you mumble under your breath. Was he trying to kill you? As the rest of the pairs move around to find places to talk, you very lazily turn your head in Rooster’s direction as he does the same to you. Hangman is standing in the aisle, looking back and forth at the both of you, very confused as to the standoff happening before him. You really don’t want to get up and walk over to Rooster. It may seem stupid, and childish, but you are not going to let him think you’re just going to waltz back over to him. Hangman breathes out a laugh, shaking his head at the two of you, ultimately taking the seat next to you. It makes you smile inside watching Rooster roll his eyes as he pulls up a spare chair.

“If any of you need me, I will be in a meeting with Cyclone and Warlock, so please direct any concerns to Hondo”, Mav announces as he points to Hondo giving a small wave in the back of the room.

“Well”, Hangman starts, “Since daddy-dearest gave Rooster a perfect score, I guess that just leaves you and me, Mantis.”

“No surprise there”, you mutter as you start looking through your notes. Rooster scoffs from the other side of Hangman, prompting you to look up at him. “What?”

“Nothing, just didn’t realize you’d be so bitter about someone on your team doing well. But then again I shouldn’t be surprised.” Adding a smile onto the end of his sentence he goes back to sorting through his notes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just think that when you have to rely on each other, you should be happy when someone does well. Especially when it’s our lives at stake here.”

“Well, I think giving someone confidence in their lack-luster abilities is dangerous, to everyone.” You say, folding your arms.

“And I completely agree”, Rooster nods, “that’s why Mav was honest with you. If he inflated that false confidence anymore than it already is, your head might have exploded.” Hangman raises his brows at the exchange before him. Why your dad thought it was a good idea to pair the three of you together, he’ll never know.

“Do you guys wanna get back to-”

“Oh, I have false confidence?”

“Or not”, Hangman finishes his sentence after being interrupted. Interrupted, not heard. It doesn’t really matter at this point while he tries to fade into his seat, waiting for this argument to be over and done with.

“He’s literally just blowing smoke up your ass, so you’ll ‘believe in yourself’”, you add in air-quotes,  “or whatever bullshit he made up. Or maybe he just wants to get on your good side to make up for lost time.” You’re vaguely aware of your own voice raising as everyone else’s conversations start dwindling and they turn to your group.

“Are you still on that? I thought we were past it already.” He responds, visibly agitated by your persistence.

“No, Rooster, you two got past that. I haven’t heard a goddamn word from you on the matter, or an apology. So no, I’m not past that.”

“Oh do you really wanna start this here?” Rooster asks, daring you.

“Oh I really do.” You respond just as sure. “So whenever you’re ready to apologize you know where to find me.”

“Everything alright over here?” Hondo has since made his way over to your group as he stands to your right. You obviously hadn’t noticed being too caught up in whatever this is.

“You think you deserve an apology?” Rooster’s voice raises, caught off guard.

“Yes! Why wouldn’t I? You just left, and even though I was twelve I still tried to get in contact with you for six years after the fact.”

“And you think I should be sorry for that? For the fact that I didn’t answer the phone when you tried to rub it in my face that he just let you go to the Academy?”

“You think after you he just let me go?!”

“Of course I do! That’s the only reason you’re sitting in this room with the rest of us!” Rooster stands right as you do, now physically looking down on you between the barrier that Hangman creates. He’s pushing on Rooster’s chest, while a hand comes to rest on your shoulder.

“Is that what you’re angry about? You’re jealous of me?” You ask incredulously, still not lowering your volume.

“Why the FUCK would I be jealous of you?”

“Rooster” Phoenix warns him. He continues anyway.

 “Jealous of the fact that your Navy connections bought you into the TopGun program in the first place, into the Academy? Huh?!” You almost flinch as he gets closer to your face, but you hold steady, chest heaving in anger still, but not backing down. “Or is it the fact that you think I’m jealous of your family, cause that sure as hell isn’t-”

“That is ENOUGH.” Hondo announces. “You are supposed to be professionals, how many of these meetings are going to end in fights?!” Your stony gaze falls from Rooster to the hand on your shoulder. You recognize the long fingers as Bob’s, he squeezes your shoulder lightly as if asking if you’re ok. You’re not, but the fact that he’s here and has your back has you taking a deep breath in, deeper than any you’ve been able to take since Rooster opened his big mouth.

“Ya know”, Hangman starts, “back in the olden Navy days they would have handed you boxing gloves and let you fight it out from there.” His attempt to relieve the tension falls flat as the rest of the team gauges if the two of you are actually done fighting.

“Yeah well”, Rooster responds, “From what I remember Mantis does a better job taking a punch than throwing one. Just ask her mom.” And just like that your breaths grow shallow again as your stomach drops. An audible breath leaves your mouth as everyone’s eyes fall from Rooster to you, and as much as you try to remain stoic, your bottom lip begins to wobble as your mouth falls open slightly. There’s an immediate sense of remorse in Rooster’s eyes as he realizes what he just said. But much like everything else he’s done, it’s too late. The damage has already been done.

“ROOSTER”, Phoenix scolds him. You don’t even stay to hear the rest of it, turning on your heel you leave the room, not being able to stand the looks of pity from your teammates. Once in the hallway you make your way to the women’s locker room. Each footstep seems louder than the next. The closer you get, the heavier the tears start to form on your lash line, only falling once you slam the door open and swing the curtain closed in a shower stall. Sliding down the wall of the cubicle, you hug your knees to your chest, attempting to silence the cries that are only coming naturally with the tears. It’s getting harder to breathe, even as you attempt to take large breaths. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Phoenix yells as she pushes Rooster. No one dares to stop her as she continues to berate him. Bob is absolutely stunned at the information Rooster just dropped, but is shaken out of his thoughts as he looks at the door you just fled through. By the way you rushed out of here, he thinks you’d like to be alone, but on the off chance you need someone, he slips out of the room to go find you. He passes the men’s locker room and heads to the women’s hoping that’s where you escaped. Knocking on the door, he slowly opens it.

“Hello? Is anybody in here?” He doesn’t receive an answer, but he can hear someone crying who he can only assume is you. “Mantis, are you ok?” Still no answer. “Mantis, I’m coming in” With his eyes glued to the floor he follows the sounds of your sniffling and sobs until he reaches you. “Hey, I’m opening the curtain, ok?” He slowly slides back the curtain to find you in the corner of the stall, face tucked between your knees as you attempt to take in ragged breaths. He’s immediately on his knees in front of you and his heart breaks at the sight. He thinks you know he’s there, but he can’t be sure. It’s obvious you’re in the middle of a panic attack and he doesn’t want to scare you, so he gently rests a hand on your knee.

“Mantis, can you hear me?” You raise your head at his voice, revealing a very red and splotchy face as tears continue to fall out of your eyes. Your breathing is still very ragged as you grip his hand on your knee as if he would float away if you let go. He would never dream of doing such a thing, but he grips your hand right back.

“It’s ok, I just need you to breathe for me, alright?” You nod your head at his words as he demonstrates taking deep breaths in, holding, then letting them out. You’re attempting to follow them as your head continues to swim, taking note of this he moves your hand from your knee to over his heart, pressing it against his chest. “I’m right here”, he tells you as you continue to follow his breathing. The soothing nature of his heartbeat helps to bring you back down to earth. And little by little you start to feel the rest of your body come to its senses. It starts with your fingertips, feeling the pressure of Bob’s rough hand pressing it against his steadily beating chest, as the feeling crawls up your arms and legs. The tears begin to subside and all that’s left is the dried tracks they left as they swam down your cheeks.

Bob remains in front of you the entire time, even as you realize just how close the two of you are, he doesn’t falter. You’re now acutely aware that your hand is still sandwiched between his hand and chest, your fingers instinctively wiggle against his as you finger the material of his flight suit.

“Are you gonna be alright if I leave you here for a sec?” You nod, not daring to make eye contact. “Ok, I’ll be right back.” He places your hand back against your knee as you stare at the spot he once occupied, your head beginning to ache. There are still so many emotions going on, but your body is starting to feel the after effects.

Bob’s quite literally back in under a minute as he assumes his previous position, only now holding a bottle of water. He opens it for you as you graciously accept it, taking a couple small sips to start out with. You manage a small “Thank you” as you hand the bottle back to Bob. Embarrassment begins to overtake your system as you curl back in on yourself.

“Are you feeling any better?” You nod your head slightly, still avoiding his gaze.

“Yeah, thank you.”

“Any time”, and though other people would pass it off as a way of Bob trying to say you’re welcome, you know he genuinely would help you any time you needed him. You’re still not sure what to say, so you don’t say anything. Bob moves to sit next to you against the wall, not breaking the silence.

“You don’t have to stay here with me”, you manage to croak out.

“I know.” He says so sure. “I just need to make sure you’re gonna be ok.” You let a deep sigh out through your mouth as you lean your head back against the tile wall. At this moment you’re just feeling drained. That’s what panic attacks usually do. You were just so mad at him, and then he shared one of your deepest, darkest secrets in front of all of your coworkers. You had maybe thought you’d be able to patch up your relationship with him if he owned up to his mistakes, but now? You don’t think you’ll ever be able to get past this. If your dad wants to spend so much time with Rooster, let him. You don’t want to see his face ever again, which you know is a big ask, knowing that you have to work together. Maybe you should just put in a transfer, it’s not like you see your dad a lot outside of work anyway. You’d miss most of these people more than they’d miss you.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Bob gingerly grabbing your wrist and facing your palm upwards, and reaching into his pocket he retrieves something, laying it down in your hand. He lets it go and you miss his touch as he rests his hands on his knees. Looking down at your palm, you realize that he’s left a single penny behind.

“What’s this?”

“A penny”

“I can see that”, you smile slightly, “what’s it doing in my hand?”

“This may shock you, but when I was younger, I wasn’t much of a talker. Sometimes it was like pullin’ teeth to get me to talk-”

“I know the feeling”

“Yes, well, my Grandpa noticed how it didn’t come easy to me. So sometimes when he noticed I had a lot going on he would hand me a penny, and without having to ask, I would just start talkin’”

“A literal penny for your thoughts” you realize outloud. You grasp the penny, staring as you hold it between your fingers.

“It doesn’t mean you have to say anything”, Bob rushes out, “Just- if you want, you’re free to share your thoughts with me. No judgment” This is quite possibly one of the sweetest things anyone has ever shared with you, and staring at the penny you know you’re safe with Bob. Safe to share your feelings, safe from… anything really.

“I really want to tell Rooster to go fuck himself.” Bob gives you a small chuckle.

“Well, I think Phoenix may be doing that as we speak.” Good, you think to yourself. You shift the coin between your fingers and thumb before deciding to speak again.

“I was so sad, for so many years. And now I’m just starting to feel angry. Every time I see his face, I just can’t stop myself from laying into him.” It’s quiet for a moment as Bob waits to let you continue. “I don’t think I’m asking for too much, or that I went too far. And he just- God, he just laid it all out there for everyone.” Bob notices your fist beginning to clench and he slowly reaches over to grasp your hand in his.

“I’m sorry. And if it means anything, I don’t think you’re asking for too much.” You hadn’t even realized you started crying again until Bob’s thumb was swiping a stray tear away. Your breath catches in your throat and his hand moves away quickly, as if touching your face had hurt him. He clears his throat. “Were you going to wait for your dad, or did you want me to take you home?”

“Home? I thought I was supposed to meet Sylvia today?”

“Oh, yeah”, Bob chokes back, surprise coating his features, “We can go to… my place then?”

“If that’s alright with you?”

“Of course it is”, Bob says almost too quickly. “I mean”, he coughs, “Sylvia, she would love to meet ya”. And then he gives you a smile. You know the one, it’s closed mouth but it causes his cheeks to scrunch up beneath his eyes, taking over half his face. It’s almost enough to make you forget about this whole day.

He stands, offering you his hands to help you off the ground. He doesn’t leave you immediately at first, he just stands in front of you as if assessing the situation. Weighing his options. Glancing down at his watch, he looks at the door, “I think everyone should have gone home for the day. But if you want, you can wait in here while I grab my stuff?” You nod, taken aback at his thoughtfulness once again.

He leaves for a short bit while you grab your own bag from your locker. He knocks on the door once again, signaling his return as you make your way through the halls. The setting sun illuminates the parking lot and glares at you through the glass doors. Bob opens the door allowing you to go first as you spot his truck and make your way to it. The ache in your head is starting to come back and you can’t wait to take your hair out of the tight bun it’s in now.

“Mantis!”, you turn around as someone calls your name and immediate regret fills your system. You roll your eyes at the sight of Rooster walking toward you as you turn to keep walking, Bob right behind you.

“Mantis!”, he yells again as if you didn’t hear him the first time. “Come on Bug!” You stop in your tracks, rage once again emanating from your pores. Turning on your heel, you drop your bag onto the asphalt. This catches Rooster by surprise as he stops right before you.

“Do NOT call me that”, you grit through a clenched jaw as you point your finger at him. You can’t help the way your arm shakes in anger.

“Sorry”, he lets out dejectedly, placing his hands on his hips. Even if your brow wasn’t furrowed from squinting in the sun you have a feeling you’d still be staring at him with the same expression.

“Oh, so you do know that word”, you scoff. Rooster bites his tongue as he looks down at his feet. “And I’m not in the mood to talk, so save it for someone else who doesn’t want to hear it.” In the distance you’re aware of Bob throwing his bag in the back of his truck as he grabs yours and does the same. 

“I just want to-”

“I told you, I’m not in the mood”, you move to turn to Bob’s truck as Rooster reaches out and grabs your wrist.

“Mantis, c’mon-” The grip on your wrist sends your senses into overdrive as anger takes over. As he tugs on your wrist, you turn and collide your free fist into his face. It’s funny really, you weren’t aiming for anything in particular but you land it right on his cheekbone. It was enough force and surprise to knock him backwards

“Jesus Christ!” he shouts, grasping his face in his hand. Tears begin to well up in your eyes for the second time today as you shake out your hand. “What the hell is your problem?” He yells at you.

“Carole would be so disappointed in you”, you rasp out, cradling your hand. You stare Rooster down as he looks up at you in shock, until he can’t stand to anymore and tears his eyes away. Bob’s standing right behind you as you turn and bump into his chest.

“Are you ok?” he asks, lightly resting his hands on your shoulders.

“No”, you whisper, “Let’s just get out of here.” You don’t dare to spare a look back at Rooster, but Bob does as he leads you to his truck. The man is standing at his full height now with his shoulders slumped. The skin just under his eye is already starting to swell as he watches you walk away this time.

The ride back to Bob’s is quiet as you stare out the window. The radio’s humming quietly in the background and he doesn’t dare disrupt the silence, so he takes a glance at your hand. The skin around your knuckles is slightly irritated from the force you punched Rooster with, but other than that it doesn’t look too bad. He knew you were tough, but he never thought he’d see you punch someone in the face. If it had to be someone, he was glad it was Rooster though. That guy had it coming, especially after what he said today. You’re still staring out the window with a look of indifference, and you still had the penny he gave to you earlier, but you hadn’t said anything about what Rooster had revealed. So, he wasn’t going to push it until you were ready or wanted to talk about it.

You’re pulled out of your trance once the truck stops in Bob’s driveway. He grabs both of your bags before you’re able to grab yours, but he stops as he’s about to open the door.

“Just a warning, it’s probably a mess in here, so I apologize.”

“I have a feeling that your definition of a mess is my definition of clean.” He gives you a slight smile as he opens the door.

“Only one way to find out.” Opening the door you find, just as you suspected, an immaculate house. There may be a couple dog toys lying around, but that’s about it. You’re startled a little bit as Bob whistles, “Syl! Come ‘ere girl!” You smile at the accent coming through, and then the thump of something on the second floor running down the stairs. Sylvia comes barreling down the hallway as fast as her claws against the hardwood allow her. Bob is immediately on his knees in front of her, scratching behind her ears and speaking in what you can only describe as baby-talk, “Oh Syl, I’m so sorry. Daddy was gone for such a long time today wasn’t he?” You’re attempting to hold back a laugh, eyebrows shooting up at his use of the word “daddy”.

Sylvia’s tail stops wagging as she notices you standing behind her dad. Bob looks back at you and then at the dog, “Now Sylvia, this is Mantis. Mantis is a very good friend of mine, and I know she has a funny name, but you’re just gonna have to get over that, ok?” You can’t help but chuckle at how talkative he is with her, and even as you stare at her enormous brown eyes you immediately crave her approval. You start to kneel down next to Bob, but before you’re able to get on your knees Sylvia is cowering away and running back upstairs. You huff out in frustration as you stare at her retreating form.

“Hey, it’s alright”, Bob explains, “Like I said, she’s kinda skittish, and it takes a little bit for her to warm up to new people.” You nod in understanding as Bob leads you to his living room. It’s fairly simple, and again very clean. Bob tells you to take a seat as he grabs you a glass of water from the kitchen directly behind the living area.

“So daddy, huh?” The glass just about slips out of Bob’s hand upon hearing your use of the word. He swallows, taking a moment to collect himself.

“Uhm”, he coughs, “Yeah, I don’t know. It just sort of happened.”

“It’s cute”, you smile to yourself. Bob returns with a glass of water and an ice-pack wrapped in a kitchen towel. He awkwardly offers it to you as you accept it.

“For your hand”

“Oh yeah, thanks.” You lift it in appreciation before placing it on your knuckles. Wincing at first at the sensitivity. Bob sits a little farther down on the couch and watches you fiddle with something in your pocket. You tentatively reach for the penny, turning it over before handing it over to Bob. He laughs through his nose, nodding as a smile plays on his face.

“Come on, it’s your turn now.” Bob begins to chew on his bottom lip, avoiding your eyes. “If you want to ask me about it, it’s ok”, you let out more solemnly. He glances over at you, huffing out a sigh.

“How’s your hand?” He decides on, making you laugh.

“Not what I meant, but it’s ok. A little stiff.” You get the sense that he wants to know, but is getting shy with you again. And even though he doesn’t ask, you get an overwhelming urge to tell him. Taking in a shaky breath, you start in the only place you know where to, “Do you know how I got my call-sign?” He shakes his head.

“Although, I do recall you telling Hangman you’d bite his fucking head off” The two of you laugh. Sylvia, just as sneaky as her dad, pops her head up out of nowhere, resting it on Bob’s thigh. His hand instinctively goes to pet her head as you try not to acknowledge her existence, hoping she’ll make her way over to you.

“That’s what I like to tell people. But, no. When I was a kid, I was deathly afraid of insects, still am if I’m being honest. But, there was one incident”, you smile at the memory, “Where I was at the park, and I turned to look behind me and there was a praying mantis, just sitting on my shoulder. I, of course, freaked out and was trying to get it off me, but it wasn’t until Carole- Bradley’s mom, calmed me down where she was able to carefully pick it up and take it off me.” You’re laughing a little at this point, and Bob can’t help but smile at your own.

“She got me to stop crying and explained that it was just a little bug”, you swallow, staring down at your iced hand, “like me.” Bob’s face softens as he remembers Rooster’s words. “That became her nickname for me, and when she died and Bradley left, nobody called me it again until-” You cut yourself off, choked up just talking about Carole, and remembering how Bradley used to be. Before he was Rooster.

“Anyway, I hadn’t had a run-in with a praying mantis until flight school. I was out on a hike with the rest of my class, and what do I see on my shoulder when I turn around? A damn praying mantis. I screamed again, just like the first time, and everyone thought it was hilarious. So, the name Mantis stuck. It just felt like…” you struggle to find the word.

“Fate”, Bob finishes the sentence for you. You look up and find his eyes trained on you. Giving him a slight smile, you nod your head.

“Yeah, exactly.” Your eyes remain on his, and your heart beats a little faster. “So I’m not exactly bug, but that’s ok, because I don’t think anyone but Carole can call me that. Even if Bradley used to-” You look away, only to find Sylvia standing between you and Bob. Having must inched her way closer while you spoke, “I don’t want him to anymore.”

“I think that makes a lot of sense, and I also think Mantis suits you.” You smile and dare to reach your hand out to Sylvia, who simply sniffs the approaching limb. She nudges her nose closer, sniffing your palm as you very gently scratch her ear, much like Bob did earlier. She leans into it, daring to walk closer to you. Taking in a deep breath, you let it out before you lose the courage.

“It wasn’t a regular thing”, Bob’s loving gaze at Sylvia falls as he looks up at you, “Just when she got really angry, or I reminded her too much of my dad I guess.” Your hand stops petting Sylvia as you stare at the glass of water on the coffee table, the condensation dripping down onto the coaster Bob thoughtfully placed underneath it. “Carole and my dad found bruises a couple different times, but I was too embarrassed to tell them how they got there. But she knew. I guess Bradley must have known, too, or he wouldn’t have brought it up today. I think they tried to do something about it, but they wouldn’t grant full custody to my dad because of his work, and… I don’t really know what happened after that.” Sylvia’s head now rests on your thigh, much like it did earlier with Bob. You grant her a small smile, moving your hand once again to give her some attention.

You don’t have to look up to know that Bob’s staring at you. Your nose starts to tingle, alerting you to the fact that tears were starting to form in your eyes. “It got better when she remarried, her focus wasn’t on me as much anymore. She was busy with her husband and his kids.” You scrunch your nose, attempting to rid yourself of the feeling, but it’s no use. The tears start to fall and you hastily wipe them away with your free hand. “Jesus, sorry”, you say as you give him a watery laugh.

“Don’t be sorry”, your tears continue to fall, “None of this is your fault.” Bob’s words hit you deep as you stare at the ceiling, willing these tears to stop, but they just won’t. “Can- Can I hug you?” You look over at Bob and give him a fast nod of your head.

“Yes please”, you whisper. He moves along the couch to get closer to you, and then wraps you up in both his arms as you do the same. Even through both of your flight suits, Bob is warm as you melt into him. Your eyes close as you breathe him in. He smells like sweat and jet fuel from being in a plane all day, and you’re sure you smell the same. It’s comforting nonetheless.

Bob just wants to pick you up and take you far away from here. Away from everyone that dares to make you hurt. He feels you sag against him and he pulls you just the tiniest bit closer as he breathes in the scent of your shampoo. He’s realizing now it’s been a while since he’s hugged someone like this, and maybe it’s the case for you, too. His hand goes to soothe along your back and your eyes flutter shut at the motion. He remembers you saying your mom wasn’t too happy when she found out about the Naval Academy, and he doesn’t want to think about what happened after the fact.

“I’m sorry you have to go through all that”, he whispers just above your ear.

“It’s alright, things are starting to look up”, you sniffle, pulling him just a little bit tighter.

Taglist:

@lemmons1998

@itsmytimetoodream

@theamuz

[jasonsiceberglounge]

THE HILLS HAVE EYES pt. 3

warnings. cursing, descriptions of pain.

roughly a week of barely interacting with the tin can and i was starting to go insane. my limb still bruised as if something had tried to eat it, still unable to walk on my own. my less than talkative roommate made (im presuming stole due to the fluffy pink dolphin that was wrapped around the armrest of the crutch) me try to walk occasionally, the pain shooting unbearably through my nerves. i tried to bare the face of strength but even he hesitated at times to allow me to take another step.

the fresh sting of metal after being buried under blankets was a wake up call consistently. his palm clutching my bicep as i hobbled trying to take another step. i huffed in frustration, at the pitiful way my body moved. i felt like my wings had been clipped preemptively.

"you're doing fine." a mechanical whirr sighed, i couldn't tell his tone due to him using autotune 24/7 but this song was kind of nice. i winced, pity was the last thing i wanted from him.

"i don't need your sympathy robo-lante." he only cracked his neck in response, his words being bit back out of whatever feelings he may or may not have.

i could feel his peering eyes buried deep beneath wiring i couldnt even fathom comprised in that small space of helmet, wiring similar to my brain, similar to gotham. chaotic, he was so calm, but chaos exudes from his silence. i struggled to take another step attempting to distract myself from the excruciating sensation reaching my teeth.

"so-" i hobbled, his head tilted as if leaning closer to hear me. "why do you walk like you're trained, some secret government project i dont know about? any fun NDA's ya signed?" i tried to bite out a laugh, but the sound choked between the hiss of pain as he carried me into another step.

"the point of an NDA is to not speak about it." he said so matter of factly i almost wanted to smack him, unfortunately he's holding my dominant arm and also the only thing between me and splinters from this rotted wood floor.

i sighed, expecting an inch at the bare minimum, i was curious don't get me wrong, but in our line of work curiosity kills the bat.

he continued to hold me for a few more steps before i panted in agony, my throat tight from forgetting to breathe, i couldn't bare this anymore. "i'm fuckin' hopeless" i wanted to cry, scream, i cannot believe that stupid goon got me so good.

he seemed to deflate a bit at the admission, scooping his arm under my shoulders, he handled my weight towards the couch, back where i belong, back to the start.

his suit hissed as he sat down on the floor in front of me, legs at an awkward angle like he's not used to it. a comforting silence enveloped us, but he looked as if he had something to comment on, to leave with me.

my nose scrunched, i wasn't particularly comfortable with him analyzing me so gently. "if you have something to say, say it. i'm not in a generous mood tonight tin-can."

he seems to almost jolt in response, my tone not settling well. he hesitates, "i- well, fuck it... once was in your shoes, now i'm helping you walk in your own. it'll come to you. i once read a quote that said 'words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality,' i believe to an extent that only you can fix you if you want to, even if fixing isn't particularly what you want it to be, what someone else wants it to be." he trailed off almost harshly, recalling a memory, a direct antonym of fond. his mask turns slightly away from my gaze, i was amazed he said more than 4 words to me, none being sarcastic.

"thank you." i whispered, thanking him genuinely bringing me more pain than my leg. his foot swayed back and forth, almost like a nervous tic. he nods silently, slowly beginning to get up. a slight groan leaves his body as he stands. his hand reaches towards me, i snap and grab his wrist instinctively. maybe he was trying to kill me finally, maybe.

his mask angles almost in surprise.

"i was-" he says with a pitiful voice "jus' wanted to fix your blanket." more hoarse this time. my eyes widen slowly, i release my grip on his brace.

"i'm sorry i tho-" he turns to walk away, not with sass but genuine disappointment.

"don't worry about it, peg-leg." he trudges off into his room as i stare in genuine disbelief

'i just wanted to fix your blanket."

something struck within me, deep, unsettling. i felt sick to my stomach, the mere gesture of chivalry being something i haven't experienced since the loss of jason. i sunk deeper into the couch, leaving the blanket unmoved in hopes maybe he'd fix it later for me, at least i'll give him the chance this time.

his stupid fucking toenails kept scratching me, it was hot, stuffy, disgusting, and cute under this huge blanket. jason todd had the brilliant idea of reading some of bruce's files and believed that the world would never find out underneath the protection of this inhuman sized blanket.

a flashlight lodged into his mouth as the pages crinkled when he turned, i didn't necessarily care for the actual words, but something about being under this blanket with him, in private, brought heat to my entire body.

"this is about corruption in gotham pd." his lips attempted to say, however stopped by the obviously shoved in his mouth light emitter, jason forgot that key part. i watched his fingers slowly scan the papers, my mind drifting many places but the current one im in.

jason was a certified yapper, but only particularly around certain individuals. i liked to think he felt comfortable enough to allow me to ride his train of thought. i enjoyed traveling through gotham more that way.

"are you paying attention?" he snapped, a bright toothy smile on his face as the flashlight slipped out of his mouth, once again the idiot forgetting it was there in the first place.

i jumped at him shaking me out of my trance, i didn't particularly want to leave it. "sorry, i, fuck- no i wasn't listenin'." i sighed, looking off sheepishly.

he only frowned in response, flinging the blanket off of our faces, the brisk air smacking me immediately. the look on his face bringing the heat all the way back, tenfold.

"what is it?" he said softer, voice tainted with concern.

i stuttered, not ready for the sudden gentle tone.

"i'm jus thinkin'." not able to look him in the eye.

he scooted closer, curls coating his forehead so beautifully, "'bout what?"

i felt as if i were about to combust into flames.

"just things." i prayed god would end his curious streak before he found out what truly killed the bat.

"you thinkin' bout me doll?" he was injecting honey in my ears.

my eyes jolted widely, it's not a foreign nickname on his lips, just one he dangles above me with the same allure as a mistletoe.

it was not christmas but i felt like santa had given me another present. god gave me jason todd, but kris kringle gave me these little chocolate morsels of moments.

silence danced throughout the safehouse, not a peep escaped even the flooring. not that it made me uncomfortable, but the memories flooding my brain and the previous interaction with the arkham knight not quite allowing the dance to finish. something was bothering me, hell, everything was bothering me, including this god damn leg.

peering around the straw apartment again, i eyed my crutch. laid perfectly 5 feet away from me, next to the knight's door. he's left it there the past week so he can bring it to me every time we try to walk again, but now i'm cursing him for putting it so far away.

the gears in my brain began to turn, either i make it to his door to apologize without falling, and pray i don't pass out inbetween.

or i fall.

i've had worse odds before.

mustering as much strength as my shoulders can carry, i propel myself up on my left leg, the right shooting in pain at the tension in the thigh. tears well up in my eyes as i turn my way towards his door, i havent tried to walk alone yet but as he said. 'something something you have to fix yourself.'

yeah, i'm pretty damn sure the quote was exactly that.

my feet rub roughly against the wooden floor, slowly taking my first step. i grab my thigh in agony as the wound begins to pound, you'd think a week would alleviate some pain, but my god it felt like lava-hot irons were investigating my white blood cell count.

another step, and not for mankind.

the crutches slowly growing larger in my view, if only i could make it close enough to the door.

another step on my peg-leg, as we all figured, fucking awful.

another on the left.

at this point i was bawling my eyes out in pain, metal coating my lips as i bit down to drown out the screams behind my teeth.

2 feet from the door.

4 steps.

2 left, 2 right.

my vision, familiarly was clouding with black again. but i'll be damned if i dont apologize while i still have no pride.

one step on the right.

one step on the left. excruciating.

one more step on the right, the crutch coming into near reach. my left palm slams against the door unintentionally trying to balance myself before i collapsed. at this point sobs caked my shirt, my neck, my face. i figured i looked better than he did underneath that iron prison though.

i could hear shuffling from behind the door as it swung open, i lost my balance not expecting the sudden movement as he instinctively grabbed my arm holding me at an awkward teetering angle.

"what the fuck are you doing?!" anger coated all silence in the safe house. his chest rising and falling with concern.

"i just- i wanted to apologize." i bit out, the feeling of standing on one leg not enough to alleviate the pain.

"for what?! you dumb, dumb girl." he eased down my arm, allowing me to grab onto his forearm for balance. he dared not say anything else knowing my pride meter would fill up again soon, cup overfloweth.

"i didn't mean to make you go away. i was, i'm just scared."

he ponders for a moment before grabbing my arm rougher than before and yanking me closer to him, his other arm grabbing my left leg and pulling me up into some awkward form of a bridal hold. for once i am the one with few words to say as he brings me back to my place on the couch, setting me down gently, gentler than i think he's been with another human in a long time.

"can you stay still this time?" he pleads, a whine at the top of his tone. i nod quietly, a hiss sounds as he removes a glove, his hand littered with scars, deep, deep gashes.

he wanted me to trust him, this is as much as he can give. this is as much as i can take. the gesture screaming with unsaid, unkempt words. tangled, confused, just trust me. trust me. i will let you know a piece of me.

"will this suffice? will you let me at least let me trap you in this.. what did you call it? country bumpkin cloth?" he chuckled, a joke leaving the confines of the tension.

i didn't necessarily have a reply, all words had left me at the moment. what had transpired the last minute repeating itself over and over on a loop in my brain. heat rose to my ears as any quick response died in my heart.

"yes i'll stay put." i sighed out, defeat coming to me quickly.

he crouched down and slowly shoved the blanket around the length of my body, i hadn't been tucked in since mommy and daddy still cared about me. this was not the same feeling.

his hand inched near my face, hesitating, but wiping a tear off my ear, rubbing the tear inbetween his thumb and index finger.

he stood back up and all i could do is watch, any words i may have been able to line up in some formula to elicit a response died within the first proof.

"stay put, get some sleep." he sighed, staring at me for a moment to make sure i really didn't move. the sound of his boots heavy as he disappeared back into his room, flicking the lights off. my heart beating out of my chest into my throat as my body could not handle what just transpired.

as much as i thought i could face anything the world threw at me, i felt transported back to his grave once again. speechless, confused, breathless.

i am not dorothy on a yellow brick road, and he was not the tin-man leading himself to find a heart again.

[thecreativecorner33]

He's Trapped Inside My Head

This voice that cannot speak He screams inside my head Reminds me of my worth and how It'd be better if I was dead

He pulls at all the pain I bear Runs razors along my scars Touches me in all the ways That I've been touched so far

But not just that, he blinds me with The hate he holds for me Says he'll make me spill the secrets That I've been sure to keep

A tug of wires is all it takes And soon they're pouring out All these fears and worries; They come running down my mouth

"YOU HATE ME! YOU HATE ME! YOU'RE ALL OUT TO GET ME! YOU'VE MADE THAT CRYSTAL CLEAR! IT'S NOT MY FAULT-! I'M NOT CRAZY! DON'T YOU DARE COME NEAR!"

My voice, it cracks, it hurts to yell At those who might have cared But even worse, it hurts to see Them all just standing there

And now I wonder if they laugh When I cry wolf at the sight Of a monster hidden in the shadows Crawling through the night

They claim they don't, but who am I To trust in what they say? I know it's them who's crazy and It's me who is still sane

That's what this voice reminds me of When I try to make amends "They will never be honest with you; It's me who is your friend."

I know he lies, this voice of mine, And yet I listen well He laughs at my obedience And wishes me to hell

I'm tired of this song and dance I wish that I could rest But this voice that spews his hate at me He's trapped inside my head.

A/N: Sooo. It's like 12:30 at night and I was thinking really hard about Ted tonight. More specifically... All the ways that I relate to him and his struggles through the story. AM talks so much in his head, broke him down to make him believe him, in the same vain that my stupid brain talks to me and makes me believe things that aren't true. I guess this is to say, I wrote this poem to be about Ted talking about AM, but also me talking about my own AM. He's inside my head and he tortures me the same way he tortures Ted. And it's so exhausting when he finally leaves me alone and I have clarity once more. It doesn't happen often anymore, or when it does, I manage to not act on what he tells me. But it still hurts. If you relate to Ted, or relate to this poem. I see you. I hear you. I rknow you're not your thoughts. And it will get better one day. It got better for me, so I believe it can for you. I hope one day that it can.