#i am begging you to consider the implications of your actions

[dakrapatops]

every time someone posts baby!jack an angel is taken out back and shot through the head

[sundrop-writes]

Better Than Sleeping

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Summary:

You and Jason are friends with benefits. Though you have come to realize that the relationship doesn’t always ‘benefit’ you when he ends up annoying you after a long, tiring day of training.

(He quickly makes you come to see that his annoying persistence can benefit you, even if you would never admit it aloud.)

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader. Friends with Benefits. Smut. Set during Season 2.

Word Count: 5,300

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Warning: This fic contains Dubious Consent. One character ‘wears down’ the other and ‘convinces them’ to have sex, and both of them display verbal consent that goes against their true actions and desires (they say no to having sex when they do truly want to) and they think of convincing the other person to agree as a kind of ‘game’. It is a relationship that is playful in nature, and this consent is based on bodily queues, facial expressions, and knowing a person’s safety and comfort based on being in a relationship with them for a period of time. If this makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read the fic.

List of detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Warnings: friends with benefits, this is primarily a smut fic, the reader character uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina, Jason is more dominant and the reader is more submissive (once the sex begins), the reader could be considered a brat, Jason calls the reader ‘babe’ (it is a canon event), Jason calls the reader ‘baby’, Jason calls the reader ‘good girl’, dubious consent - coercion (please see the above for an explanation about this), mentions of masturbation (watching someone masturbate), mentions of fucking someone to sleep/fucking someone while they are asleep, mentions of free use kink, mentions of cumming inside someone/unprotected sex, marking/biting, groping/touching through underwear (reader receiving), orgasm denial (toward the reader), ‘just the tip’,teasing, there is a point where Jason’s dick is inside her without a condom but he doesn’t cum, and he puts on a condom before fully penetrating (what would you call that?), begging, slight mentions of subspace (but it’s more so described as a lustful drunkness), there is implications toward the end of fucking someone to sleep/fucking someone while they are asleep with their permission. I believe that is everything.

A/N: This is definitely one of my favourite things I have written. I thought maybe I was going to edit it some before re-posting it, but I was rereading it the other day and I actually realized that it's really good the way it is, so here you go - some random cocky Jason smut, inspired by the 'just the tip' trope. I hope you enjoy!

...

You knew that becoming a Titan was never going to be easy. 

But fuck, this was a lot harder than you imagined it would be. Dick Grayson was quickly becoming your least favorite person. Between the 5am wake up calls and the endless workout routines, paired with the bland ‘nutrient filled’ meal plans he had everyone on to ‘fuel your bodies’ for training - he was becoming a menial drill sergeant that you couldn’t get away from. One of the only things that made it better was the fact that you had friends around - the ability to joke about him with Rachel, Gar, and Jason behind his back. Was it a bit mean-spirited? Yes. Did you feel less guilty about it whenever he added more onto the training routine? Also yes. 

You had no clue when these skills you were working so hard on were ever going to come into play. Every single night, Dick retired himself into the comms room full of computers to ‘monitor the city for threats’ - but he seemingly never found anything worthy of the team’s attention. At least not yet. So you went about the routine of training hard, becoming exhausted, falling into bed to sleep and then doing it all over again. 

Oh - and there was the other thing. The not so occasional part of your routine where Jason fucked your brains out. The fact that the two of you had developed a mutually beneficial relationship to help ‘relieve’ each other when you were horny, a quintessential friends with benefits situation. But with your muscles sore from training and your entire body so exhausted, that was the farthest thing from your mind on this night. 

After a long, hard day of training, the last thing you wanted to hear was a knock on your bedroom door. You hoped that it was simply Gar asking to borrow some of your body wash again (because he liked the smell), or Rachel asking you to kill a spider in her room, and not Dick alerting you to some surprise training drill that he had suddenly thought up. 

You shoved your pajama top over your head, finishing getting changed for the night, and rushed across the room to the door. When you opened it, you barely had time to gauge if you were pleased or displeased at seeing Jason before he spoke. 

“I’m horny.” He announced abruptly, being very abrupt about delivering his feelings. 

But it was in character for him, and didn’t surprise you in the least. 

You hated that your stomach jolted at his words, even if just out of Pavlovian habit. It had been only two days since the last time he had fucked you. He had caught you in the shower in the morning, snuck into the bathroom with a condom between his teeth and opened the shower door to join you while you were distracted meditatively washing your hair. It had been steamy, soapy, slippery, and goddamn wonderful. 

But it had left you sore and stiff before training, and you were wondering how much give and take there was - if you truly needed his cock. 

“Hello to you too.” You said, your tone just as dead tired as you felt. 

You wouldn’t admit that you were a bit horny too. You were tired, and you wanted to go to sleep. So that made you annoyed with his presence. (It should have made you more annoyed than you were.) 

Jason bit his lip, raking his eyes up and down your body with an intense heat lurking there. You glared back at him. 

Jason was intensely attractive. He was a good looking guy, that was just a fact. And while you did enjoy the way he was looking at you, staring you down like you were a porn star when you were slumped with exhaustion, wearing baggy old pjs with mascara smeared on your face with sweat, your hair a mess from the day - there was barely a spark stirred in your stomach at the idea of fucking him right now. You were just too damn tired. Dick had been running you all into the ground, instituting the same training that Batman had given him, and it was fucking exhausting. 

“So - can I come in?” Jason asked. 

He gave you a very expectant curl of his lips and tilted his head toward you when you didn’t say anything for a few seconds. You just stood there and stared at him bitterly. 

You sighed hard through your nose, not wanting to answer the question. 

Fucking him might be nice. A good orgasm before bed. But you needed to put what little energy you had left into your nightly routine and then get a good, long sleep before Dick woke everyone up at ass o’clock again. 

“No.” You finally told him. “I’m going to bed.” 

You turned and walked back into your room, but left the door open. You hoped that he would get the hint to leave on his own. You grabbed your bottle of makeup remover and a cotton pad and began taking off your makeup. 

You weren’t so lucky. 

“I’ll go to bed with you, babe.” He announced proudly. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. 

He then came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. You felt the half hardness of his cock pressing into your ass as you wiped away your makeup with stern hands. You tried your hardest not to let him wear you down, even as you felt a tingle between your thighs. He was used to training this hard, so it wasn’t as exhausting for him. Clearly, he didn’t understand how tired you were - how badly you needed the rest. 

“Go get in your own bed.” You barked, your tone becoming more strained. 

As you leaned closer to the mirror to inspect your face, to make sure that you had gotten all the tiny specs of makeup off, you unintentionally arched your back, pushing your ass much closer to his crotch. Jason let out a quiet moan and you caught him smirking at you in the reflection of the mirror. 

He leaned in close, draping his warm body entirely over your back, trapping you there as he put one hand on the dresser and the other on the wall and leaned his body weight on you. You could have shoved him off you if you wanted to - but as you felt a tingling heat creeping up your back, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to. 

“Come on, babe.” He sighed into your neck. 

His hot breath on such a sensitive place caused a shiver through you that you would deny. 

“Why are you being like this? You know if you want a good sleep, getting fucked nice and hard is the best way to get it.” He told you, so entirely cocky. “My cock will put you right to bed, baby.” 

The words sent a hard jolt of electricity through you, settling a hard heat through you from your gut all the way to your face, burning uncomfortably through your skin. Combined with the way he ground his increasing hardness against your ass, you were forced to suppress a whimper. 

It made you even more annoyed with him - the fact he could play your body like an instrument he had finely tuned. And you reacted with that intense annoyance. 

“Why can’t you just masturbate like a normal person?” You scoffed at him, entirely firm, not giving away an ounce of weakness in your voice. 

“As if.” He held intense disgust in his voice at the very idea. 

He gave another firm dig of his hips, causing you to be pressed into the sharp edge of the dresser - a small twinge of pain that only added to the heat growing in your stomach. 

“Why the fuck would I resort to touching myself when I have the sweetest pussy ever to fuck right down the hall?” Jason explained. “But ya know, if you want to watch me jack off, that can be arranged.” 

Instead of responding to that, you just rolled your eyes. You hoped that he wouldn’t notice that subtle shift of lust in your features that said this was definitely a new fantasy of yours because he had brought it up. 

“You can’t deny that you need it too.” Jason whispered into your ear. 

“I need sleep.” You grunted in return. 

You then shucked out of his hold, using one of the evasive maneuvers that Dick had taught you in training, ducking under Jason’s arm when he wasn’t expecting it. Before he could blink, you were across the hall and in the bathroom. It was mostly because you knew that if you stood there any longer with his warm body pressed against your back, you would have given in far too easily. 

Naturally, Jason followed you. 

He stuck by your side through your entire night time routine, trying to wear you down. You weighed the pros and cons in your head without truly listening to him as the exhaustion seeped into your bones and battled with the lust growing inside of you. 

Jason brushed his teeth standing next to you in front of the sink while you brushed yours, all the while mumbling excuses through his toothpaste about how the sex would be good aerobic exercise to help with your training. By the time you got to doing your skincare, you ended up putting a face wash and moisturizer on him just to mentally drown out whatever he was saying - something about orgasms and endorphins and how it helps mental health. 

As you pulled back the covers to finally settle in, he snuck his way into your bed under the guise of ‘just cuddling’. Though you weren’t anywhere near convinced of that sentiment, you didn’t kick him out of the room or protect. You were surprised, but grateful when he took off his shirt, laid down, and seemed to finally shut up. You weren’t sure which you were more grateful for - the quiet or the stunning eye candy of his tight body on full display. But you didn’t question the fact that he had finally stopped nagging you. 

You crawled into bed beside him and settled into his arms. You gave him a kiss on the cheek as a goodnight (knowing that if you kissed him on the mouth, it would turn into something more heated). It was only about two minutes after you shut off your bedside lamp, shrouding the room in darkness, that the talking began again. 

“You could sleep through it.” He noted quietly. 

You sighed with deep annoyance. 

“If you want to. I could be gentle about it.” 

His voice continued on from behind you as he spooned you, one arm under your head underneath the pillow and the other laid almost possessively around your waist. 

Of course, he didn’t even have to be too descriptive for you to know what ‘it’ was. 

The idea of him gently fucking you while you fell into a lazy sleep was entirely too appealing. But he didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to win. Especially not after you had put so much of your very little remaining energy into deterring him all night. 

“Go to sleep.” You told him with a huff, shoving your head further into the pillow. 

He simply chuckled. 

You hoped that if you just ignored him, he would shut up and go to sleep. 

You would never admit to him that heat bloomed in your stomach at the idea of Jason crawling into your bed when you were already in a deep sleep, using you for his own selfish pleasure and leaving you sore and full of cum to wake up to in the morning. 

“Hmm… no.” He replied, as easily as a petulant child, his breath fanning out over your neck once again. 

Your heated thoughts easily blossomed into a moan from your lips when he latched onto your neck without warning. He picked a particularly tender spot, sucking hard with teeth and the fullness of his lips, easily knocking the wind out of you. You shoved your heated face tightly into your pillow, praying that he wouldn’t notice your reaction. That he wouldn’t realize he so blatantly had you like putty in his hands. If he knew that, he would know that he could just take whatever he wanted and you wouldn’t protest. Not in the slightest. 

Jason already knew that. But he wasn’t just going to pull down your shorts and slam his cock into you. As much fun as that would be - he wasn’t barbaric. Plus - now that he had one of your sweet little sounds in his ears, he wanted more. He wanted to hear you beg for it after denying him for so long. 

He moved his arm from being so tightly around your waist, and pushed your shirt up. You tried your best to put up a wall of indifference toward this. He began skimming his touch oh so lightly along the roundness of your stomach, right above the band of your shorts. You knew he felt the shiver that ran through you, but you refused to say anything. You weren’t pretending to be asleep at this point, but it was a game to the two of you. You still refused to give in. 

But he was playing to win. 

He shoved his hand into the waistband of your shorts, touching you outside the fabric of your underwear. His skin felt like he could have burned you, even through the fabric. You had to make a conscious effort not to buck forward into the touch. When his fingers skimmed across your hotly beating clit (when had you gotten so turned on?) you swallowed another whimper and steadied your voice. 

“Jason.” You said his name firmly, like a warning bell. “If you don’t behave yourself, I’m gonna kick you out.” 

“I don’t think you will.” He whispered into your neck, defiantly cocky once again. 

He sucked another hard, hot mark onto your skin as he cupped your pussy whole in his palm and began grinding the heel of his hand against your clit. 

You let out a wobbling moan and your body thrashed, your energy so depleted that you could no longer hold back your body’s natural reactions to him. You were met with the hard wall of his body behind you, so firm and perfectly hot as he pressed himself tighter into you. 

He gave a satisfied grin into your skin and only doubled down, putting more pressure on your throbbing clit and causing hot waves from that point, adding to the rolling boil that raged under your skin. 

With the beautifully firm pressure and Jason’s talent, the way he knew your body so well, you could have come from this alone. Especially as the pleasure throbbed through your core, your underwear became more soaked through and it was all so beautifully smooth and wet. 

Jason began grinding his cock - still trapped inside a pair of sweats - against the back of your thigh. He groaned into your neck when he felt a pleasurable tingling of his own spreading through his gut, though he craved to be inside of you. As much as he was enjoying this - the sweet, needy sounds falling from your lips, the way your thighs clamped around his wrist, as though desperately trying to keep him in place while your hips humped against his hand like a bitch in heat - he knew that he needed more. 

And he was going to make you beg for it. 

When he felt the signature twitch of your legs that said you were about to cum, he stopped. He held his hand completely still, his strong arm easily pinning your hips down to the bed to prevent you from humping against him and simply taking what you needed. In that moment, he even curled two of his fingers up to shove the fabric of your underwear inside of you slightly, creating a sharp sting that reminded you just how empty you were feeling. 

“Jay-!” You let out his name in a petulant whine, about to scold him for the ruined orgasm, but he cut you off. 

“You gonna ask me nicely now?” He rumbled into your ear. “Admit you were wrong?” 

You wanted to bark out ‘either make me cum, or go to your own damn bed’ - but you knew that Jason was just as petty as you were. At that point, he would have gotten up and left for his own bed just to prove a point. 

“You’re keeping me awake right now.” You huffed out, trying your best to sound annoyed. (Which wasn’t too difficult, considering how badly the ruined orgasm had frustrated you.) “My point still stands.” 

Of course, sleeping was the farthest thing from your mind now. The sexual frustration had injected a new wave of energy through you, and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to rest until you were truly satisfied. 

Unfortunately, Jason knew that too. 

“Okay.” Jason sighed quietly, giving a click of his tongue. 

He then completely pulled his hand out of your shorts and pulled away from your body. It seemed like he was moving to get out of the bed - you worried you had accidentally triggered that signature pettiness in him. 

But as usual, Jason Todd surprised you. 

You bit your lip to hold back a cheer when he reached for the waistband of your shorts and underwear pulled them down all at once, exposing your hot, soaked cunt to the cool air of the room. (At some point, the blanket had been accidentally shoved off you.) You took a glance over your shoulder and of course, he was shoving his pants down to his knees. You caught a glimpse of his long, thick, hard cock bobbing out of the fabric in the darkness. But you didn’t dare to spend too much time admiring it, for fear of making him too cocky. 

You relaxed against your pillow in satisfaction, waiting for Jason to grab a condom out of the bedside table’s drawer so that he could literally fuck you to sleep. 

You were surprised when he scooted back toward you, pressing himself right up against your back once more. He proceeded to simply press his hips against yours - his cock laid flat against the bare folds of your leaking pussy, immediately becoming slick with your wetness. But be made no moves to grab a condom or even tease you by pushing inside of you raw. 

(Which - yes, the two of you had agreed to always use condoms, but it was secretly a fantasy of yours that he would go against the rule because of his overbearing need to feel you raw - or even the need to cum inside of you). 

But instead of doing any of that, Jason seemed to be settling in to relax. 

Jason draped himself across your back, wrapped his arm around your waist again, and gently laid his head on your shoulder. But he made no effort to move, or fuck you. Your pussy throbbed with need, feeling the hot, hard length pressed against you, entirely unmoving. When you clenched around nothing, you let out a wave of slick that you knew he could feel right on his cock. You felt a groan catch inside his chest, but still, he didn’t move. 

“Jason.” You breathed out, having to question him after a few more moments of silence and stillness. “What are you doing?” 

“Going to sleep.” He answered, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I thought you wanted me to just shut up and leave you alone so that you could get some rest?” 

That. Little. Shit.

You resisted the urge to elbow him in the face. 

Obviously, being so close to you, he felt your entire body tense up with anger and annoyance. He was only able to partially hold back his satisfactory laughter. When the quiet snickers met your ears, you became even more annoyed. 

“Jason.” You scolded him gruffly. 

“Oh? I’m sorry,” He said, entirely sarcastic. “Did you want something?” 

“Did you want something?” You parroted back, mocking his words in a childish voice. 

Essentially, you had no more clever comebacks left. He had won. 

“I guess I can give you something for your troubles, babe.” Jason sighed, as though it were a grand inconvenience to him. “Maybe just the tip, though.” 

“Just the tip.” You sighed, finding yourself repeating his words once again. Though this time your voice was dead and sarcastic rather than mocking - mostly because you didn’t believe him. 

You knew that in Jason land, ‘just the tip’ meant slamming his entire cock into you after the tip lingered in your entrance for a moment. You clenched down on nothing again at the thought. 

Once again, you were expecting him to grab a condom so he could fuck you freely without worry. You were surprised when he peeled his body away from you slightly and reached down to grab his cock. After a moment of rubbing the fat cockhead along your folds to get it nice and wet, he did as promised and pushed the tip inside. 

It was the first time he had ever been inside of you without the barrier of a condom, and feeling his hot, raw skin touching yours - even just a little bit, made you gasp. 

“Jason!” 

Your voice was whiny even to your own ears, so needy for him after so much teasing. Upon instinct, feeling that painfully empty ache coming from deep inside you, you arched your back and attempted to shove your hips toward him - attempted to pull more of his thickness inside of you. But Jason was quicker, and he had his hands on both your hips, shoving you down onto the bed so hard and fast that the tip of his cock fell out of you with a wet pop. 

It was a sound that made heat beat through your cheeks, and the feeling of his wet cockhead brushing against the backs of your thighs took your breath away. 

“Oops.” He chuckled, and moved to slot himself back into position.

You had no clue why it was so dizzyingly hot. 

But this time he held you down firmly so you couldn’t simply fuck yourself back onto his cock. You moaned as the thickness of the cockhead popped back inside of you - you yearned for more, but he stayed still. 

After a moment, he began to move his hips so slightly, feeding no more than an inch of his cock into your throbbing cunt before pulling it back out. It was an entirely careful movement on his part where he fed you the first inch, and didn’t let the tip pop out again, in pathetically shallow thrusts that could barely be called sex. Your pussy ached, tingled, yearned for more. 

You mentally cursed Batman for teaching him such good self discipline and him using it for this.

“Jason.” You whined, trying fruitlessly to fight against the firm grip he had on your hips in order to fuck yourself on his cock. 

“What, babe?” He chuckled, leaning down to kiss a line across your shoulder. 

“You know what.” You replied, your tone even more frustrated and whiny. 

You wiggled your hips desperately, trying to get more of him inside of you. You yearned to feel the perfect ache of his thick cock splitting you open, hitting all of those perfect spots so deep inside of you. 

“No, I don’t.” He told you, his voice somehow steady and confident. “You’re gonna have to spell it out for me.” 

You couldn’t see it or feel it, but his hips were trembling and his abs were tight with the pure resistance of his self control. All of the energy he was using not to slam his cock into the tight, warm velvet of your cunt, especially as he felt it leak so freely around the tip of his cock, knowing how badly you needed him. He wanted nothing more than to watch you whine and babble and fall apart on his cock - but he wanted to win just a little bit more. 

There was a distinct pause. The last shreds of your own stubbornness hanging in the air, even as your cunt throbbed with need. 

Even if Jason couldn’t see your face from this angle, he could feel the warring in your body. He knew you too well. And he knew how to break you down so perfectly. 

“If you want anything more than this,” He told you, emphasizing the point with another pathetically shallow thrust. “If you want anything more than just the tip of my cock,” His voice was low and silken and creating even more heat that almost drowned you. “Then you’re gonna have to beg for it.” 

“Fuck you, Jay.” You whined out in protest, once again trying to fight his grip on your hips to fuck yourself against him. 

He viciously dug his fingers into the fat of your hips, causing a sharp sound from your throat at the beautiful pain. 

He leaned down and pressed his lips to the back of your neck, and growled out his next words in a low tone that dragged through your insides in the exact spot where his cock should have been. 

“Come on.” He urged you on. “Fucking. Beg.” 

That was when you broke. 

At least you hadn’t given in too easily. 

“Please,” You whined out breathlessly. “Please, fuck me! Fuck me, Jason! I need it.” 

“What else?” Jason asked expectantly. 

You could have killed him. But when your desperate cunt unconsciously clenched down on the fat head of his cock and you felt yourself growing only more hot and needy, you knew that there was only one thing to do. 

“I’m sorry, Jay, I should have - I should have just asked nicely in the first place. I do need it. I need your big cock inside of me so badly.” You poured it on thick, emphasizing the last words in the most pornographic voice you could muster, hoping that he was running low on self control as well. 

And he was. So he was very satisfied with this. He grinned into your skin, leaving a surprisingly tender kiss on the back of your neck before he mumbled out ‘good girl’ - something that made you moan out sharply. 

You let out a sharp noise of disappointment when his cock popped out of you again. 

“I need a condom.” He told you, giving you a reassuring pat on the ass. “As much as I’d love to cum inside you, we do have an agreement.” 

You weren’t sure which was hotter - his sex-thick voice admitting that he shared one of your deepest fantasies, or the fact that he was caring so deeply for you, making sure that he protected you with a condom even when you were in that floating headspace and willing to let him do just about anything do your body. 

Your mind was swimming contemplating it, and next thing you knew it, he had the condom on successfully. He then slammed his cock inside of you in one firm, smooth movement. Any thoughts were easily pounded out of your head by the practiced movement of his hips.

“Better now?” Jason grunted into your ear. 

You could practically feel his smugness radiating through his cock, spearing into you. 

But you were now alight with intense pleasure, warm satisfaction rolling through you - so you couldn’t bring yourself to truly care about how smug he was. Every bit of cockiness he had, he did back it up with a pretty big dick that he knew how to use well. Not that you would ever say those words aloud to him. Not even on your deathbed. 

“Just shut up and fuck me.” You ordered, though it was breathless and had no bite. 

“As you wish, babe.” He replied, and then doubled down - his hips fucking into you with an intense fury. 

You moaned like a whore at this, finally feeling that dizzying fullness that you had been craving since he had snuck his touch into your shorts. Jason drank up your sounds and easily wanted more - more of your perfect pussy squeezing around his cock, more of that wetness coating his inner thighs, more of that filthy wet smacking as he fucked into you. 

He leaned down, draping his body fully over yours once again, creating a pleasantly smothering weight on top of you as you laid on your stomach on the bed with your face nearly drowned in the pillow. He slowed the pace of his hips to a dangerous torture of a grind, fucking you so deeply now that you were sure you could feel him coming up inside of your throat. You let out a wounded noise, and he hushed you gently. 

“Shh, babe, I’ve got you.” He whispered into your ear. “Gonna make you feel so good.” 

He moved one of his hands from your hip and shoved it between your body and the bed, and once again he was cupping your mound fully in his hand - but this time there was no fabric barrier, and he was settled deep inside of you. It was filling your whole body with lava, turning every place he touched you to boiling ash. You were sure that you would have dissolved into nothingness if not for the anchor of your cunt hanging onto his cock, keeping you grounded in reality with that slight nip of pain as your muscles clenched onto him. 

“Now say thank you.” He told you, his voice so gruff in your ear, so thick with desire that it made you dizzy. “Thank me for giving you my cock.” 

He used two precise fingers to rub circles on your neglected clit, immediately sending shockwaves through your body that made your muscles jump and jolt. 

You gulped for air and struggled to move your face out of the fabric of the pillow, and Jason saw this. He moved his other hand and slid it under your cheek, gripping under your jaw to fully lift you up. 

He stilled his hips completely once again, causing a pained sound to emanate from your lungs as you clamped down on his cock deep inside of you while he continued to relentlessly work over your tender clit. He gave you a couple of seconds to catch your breath. But you were so cock dumb that you had to be reminded of the goal. 

“Come on, baby.” He encouraged you, pressing his lips to your cheek that he wasn’t holding onto. “Say ‘thank you’.” 

“Thank you.” You easily repeated back, now completely pliant to his desires. “Thank you for-for your cock.” 

“Good girl.” Jason praised you once again. 

Then he began fucking into you once more - it only took a few careful thrusts of his hips and the talent of his fingers on your clit to finally bring your orgasm to life. He shoved his tongue into your mouth as you screamed through it, imitating some sloppy version of a kiss while you flailed and creamed on his cock, your body becoming truly boneless and tired as the orgasm rocked you. 

When it was finished, he was still throbbing hard inside of you, and you let out a whine of disappointment. You were absolutely dead tired now, and you couldn’t even think of how much energy it would take to finish him off. Mister ‘Twice In A Sunday’ could last quite a long time, and that didn’t exactly work for you in that moment. 

“You can go to sleep now, babe.” He whispered into your ear. “I’ll clean you up when I’m done.” 

He began thrusting into you once more, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes drift closed. 

It ended up being a good night for both of you.

...

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[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

CAP CHAPTER 74 ROCKED

AND I WROTE THINGS HERE YA GO

SPOILERS BELOW!!!

Yknow i had to do it to em (play eye of the tiger based off of the chapter title, i think I’ll play gonna fly too, training montage music) 

EXCELLENT START. 

Love the dialogue already, Rena I love you dearly. 

I know you made the massive time skip because of your break from Panthera while writing, But i do actually quite like how it means they’ve been at this for almost a full year by now

Insane for this. “Yes and no, that was Ladybug’s training” 

The fuck will she do to them. I am so ready to find out

SHE’S SO INTENSE I LOVE HER LOVE THIS SIDE OF HER

I hope LB doesn’t interfere too much, I want to see how everyone deals with this side of Panthera

It’s hard to be fast at falling- hHA i am actually wheezing, i love this

Help this is awesome

I’m terrible at commenting on action, but this flows really smoothly and I’m loving how Panthera is explaining shit to them while they are flailing 

I feel like LB will be pulled in to make a point about team work

How is she wearing a hat with the cat ears

Awww Anarka tips cute

I love this

I enjoy Panthera beating hte three of their asses

I’m really waiting for the moment the tension between LB and Panthera explodes, because the push and pull between them can’t keep up like this! Especially because you have hinted at the Akuma becoming more dangerous 

Thats an argument / conversation I can’t wait to read.

Well i can wait, I would rather things are appropriately set up and you were happy with writing them Cap. does that make sense?

Help not Chloe hating Nadia, tbh she gives me bad vibes considering how ready she was to use children to boost her own show rating. 

Also, stealing a reporters microphone is such a funny idea.

JULEKA YOU THICK HEADED IDIOT NOTICE WHO RENA IS PELASE I BEG OF THEE

I still find it funny that Juleka is so bothered by not knowing who rena is. 

I love the alya appreciation, she’s a really really fun character especially in this, Chloe buying her an expensive camera is so funny though

Help- 

“They only ask me why I’m a boy on an all girl’s team and if I’m dating you guys.” Carapace huffed, tugging at his hood. “I’m also bi but I’m thinking of aiming for dating a dude next time I’m looking to date just so I can spite them.”

I’M OBSSESSED WITH NINO HERE HELP

Mainly because i was just thinking that “huh, i forgot that without Adrien as Cn team miraculous really seems like a girls thing

OOOO 

“They’re not my rules” 

Juleka saying this to them really forces them all to see that the partnership is unbalanced

This is like the different expectations of my divorced parents this sounds stressful to be in a team with 

Interesting to see Juleka’s rules though

I like this team conversation, I’m very curious about how much we’ll see with the five of them

The talk about dreams is fun, I am curious about what Chloe will end up wanating to do 

The whole “Oh was that an implication thing?” was cute

Juleka thinking the fact that we all end up dying is a reassuring thing is so funny help

leaving the three to a long moment without their two leaders. Or.. was it leader and her second in command.

THAT SHWTA I’M TALKING ABOUT!!!!!!!!!!! POWB YEAH UNBALANCED SYSTEM AND SHE NOTICED WOOO

It is very interesting that they never thought of it like that before though, I’m pretty sure the media had implied that Juleka was second in command, or that might have been Juleka bias working 

Cap you have no idea how insane i am for the inevitable LB and Panthera disagreement on how to run things, like I feel like there will have to be a big push because Juleka is unlikely to challenge it without them even though she feels really strongly for it

But Alya’s observation has just made me more interested

I do need it to be known that I’m not trying to vilify Marinette! I love her character in this! She’s so interesting with how she sees things and how dedicated she is, and she is a good hero!

I’m just.. Really interested to see what happens when Panthera and her are actively opposing each other

The fact that Panthera fights like she’s dancing has me feeling wild 

And actually helps me visualise how she fights a lot more, not that it was hard before but this makes a lot of details click

YAY THEY BEAT HER!!!

Ooo, Fu talk. And. wait. PROGRESS ON THE PERMANENT HEROS THING WOOHOO

We all know LB has just not asked Fu about it at all

I’ve never really stopped to wonder why

I think I assumed it was because she didn’t want to maybe go against Fu, but I don’t think that really fits…

Huh. 

More to think about, though I do apologise if you’ve made that particular motivation clear and I’ve accidentally blanked it!

Oh shit

Never mind

Were talking about the metalica moment that’s crazy insane

Never mind fade to black

God I am so curious about what she’ll be able to do with that when it is more controlled

Hang on wasn’t she not transformed? Oh no, nvm plagg can leave the ring now

the end was so cute- help not Chloe buying expensive shit for people, love that for her

I seem to have said less than usual! i'm a bit frantic rn, so sorry about that! I'm not sure how much either of my asks made sense, they really are just stream of conscious so I do apologise for anything that is confusing!

Im glad you liked the time skip- Ive heard some comments expressing their unhappiness or discomfort with it so,, yeah;;

I can't wait for panthera and ladybug's dynamic in season 3. if you guys love ladynoire toxic yuri oh boy season 3+4 will be the seasons for you guys <3

[kiigan]

ㅤNaruto truly was like the sun, not only in the overall bright disposition and the warmth he always seemed eager to share but, just as much, in the solar flares that his temper could so easily become. Massive gatherings of unstoppable energy ready to consume everything on their path. For an instant, Itachi had even to humor himself wondering if this boy would be touched by the flames of Amaterasu or, instead, would swallow the black fire without getting burned and like it was nothing.

ㅤJust like going door to door begging people to accept and forgive Sasuke. Like it was nothing. If only I could tell you how proud I am of you.

ㅤTo the point that the mask did eventually show the slightest of cracks; hopefully it would be imperceptible, because the Uchiha was helpless to stop it. Stop the faintest of smiles from curving his lips, when hearing what Naruto was willing to do, the near-ridiculous lengths he was willing to go for Sasuke's sake. How could he not smile about it? 

ㅤHis plan, this impossibly complicated mess of subliminal intentions and overarching crossroads that he'd been so meticulously weaving for years - it had been laid down to the most minuscule of details, every single possibility considered and accounted for but, even so, Itachi was only human. There would always be implications that escaped his grasp and that he could not fully control and one of them, precisely, was what would be of his little brother once the dust settled. Would revenge be enough to soothe Sasuke's agony? Would he ever be able to find a semblance of peace and happiness again? Would somebody else find it in themselves to look upon him and see past the superficial layers of everything horrible and twisted, see past the thick scar tissue that deep trauma had left behind, see a person worth loving and caring for? Naruto would, from the looks of it, and there was no word in no known language good enough to express the sense of relief that this brought to Itachi.

«If you die trying, who will do it in your stead?»

ㅤYes, he was choosing to not acknowledge everything that the teen had just so passionately said. Almost like it was on purpose, to piss him off further, but in reality - Itachi felt no need to add to it. He'd heard literally everything he'd so desperately been wanting to hear, how could he demand more? Not to mention, now that words were out of the way, actions were growing more pressing by the second. There was yet one final step left to configure in his plan, one final fail-safe that hopefully would never be needed, and he'd been cautiously waiting for confirmation before fully committing... and, now that Naruto had cleared all his apprehension, time was finally ripe.

ㅤShifting, then, also paying no mind to the threatening kunai that Naruto was suddenly holding, what the elder Uchiha did instead was to catch that sky-colored gaze with his own. Frankly, the boy made it all too easy. The tomoes of his sharingan swirled once and twice and then merged at the center of his irises, in a three-pronged pinwheel-like pattern. Immediately there was a sharp stab of pain in his skull, his body at this point kept alive only by an ungodly amount of medication and sheer willpower and stubbornness, but there was no time for that. One second was all he needed. As the fabric of time-space was ripped apart and shaped anew to create a temporary bubble for the two of them only, the night sky of the real world was replaced by the eerie crimson of Tsukuyomi. Instead of the onslaught of genjutsu that ought to be expected, however, what Itachi did was to keep them both floating in that sky along with the ethereal black clouds.

«Which would be a regrettable waste, considering I am in need of a favor from you.»

Itachi's lack of emotion was beginning to really piss Naruto off. Partly because this was so important to Naruto and the lack of acknowledgement of that felt crass. The other part was how cold Itachi seemed to have become. This was apparently the same man who had taught Naruto to read and write. The same guy who would make sure Naruto had food that wasn't just instant ramen. The guy who cleaned up naruto's place- did the dishes. Made sure he was clothed.

The Itachi he remembered was kind, and well always kind of stressed but he was gentle. He was like a big brother to Naruto. How could he stand there and act like this all meant nothing?

His anger swelled up in him again and he clenched his jaw as he responded with an aggressive tone.

"I DON'T CARE!" The blonde hissed. "I'll figure it out! They hated me and I managed to make them see I was worth believing in! Everyone makes mistakes we can't all be perfect!! If I can learn to let all the pain everyone in the village put me through when I didnt even DO anything then I'm sure they can see Sasuke was MANIPULATED! That this ISN'T HIM. He left to get stronger to kill YOU. This is about what YOU did not about what HE did!"

"Sasuke is far from the first Shinobi to be lead down a bad path! We can ALWAYS COME BACK! We can ALWAYS DO BETTER- BELIEVE IT! If I have to go door to door to convince people to give him a second chance I WILL! I'll do whatever it takes to bring Sasuke home!!"

Naruto grabbed a kunai in a flash and put it up defensively, letting Itachi know he would still fight, even if he couldn't win, because he wouldn't be giving up. Not now not ever.

"Even if I have to die trying." Eyes narrowed with focus, tone cold and determined. Nothing less than what you'd expect of Naruto Uzumaki- blunt determined and a little stupid.

[chocoenvy]

what would a poly relationship with yae miko, ei and sara be like? (sagau)

BRO SAME ELECTRO WOMEN ARE SO!!!!!!!!!!!

Sagau! Ei, Yae, Sara (together) x reader

warnings: cult behaviors, poly relationship, reader is oblivious too :( mentions of power dynamics but they're all doing their best to maintain a healthy relationship

This type of relationship is something that not many people would expect... is what you thought. But no, the entirety of Inazuma already knew Ei and Yae were a thing, and it was no surprise when you joined the mix. Sara was the only "surprise" but the people of Inazuma came over their shock quickly, understanding your type.

Sara has had no romantic experience, poor girl.

Ei has probably had what could be considered romantic experiences (I mean, she's already dating Yae...) but she's just so dense she didn't understand the difference between romantic and platonic no matter how obvious.

Then Yae Miko acting like the complete opposite of them, it's an... odd dynamic to say the least especially once they throw you, a degenerate simp, into the mix.

You had little doubt such a relationship would word but goddamnit you just couldn't keep your simping love for the women down.

Yae was the one that caught onto how you seemed to treat her, Ei, and Sara differently from your other acolytes.

And she confronted you about your blatantly obvious feelings with a sly smile playing at her lips as you squirmed and writhed under her burning gaze and the question of "Are you going to chase after your feelings?"

The two of you are interrupted by Ei, probably seeking out more of your attention.

Yae grins as though nothing happened, "Nevermind, it's nothing." She gives you a look though that says the opposite.

You don't stop thinking about what she said...

Ei, of course, wants to be around you 24/7 like you're a sweet treat she just can't get enough of. You grin at her whenever she's around and when she's begging for your attention you give it to her. Always holding her hand when you're around, hugging her, sitting on her lap.

Ei, of course, is blissfully unaware of the romantic implications of your actions. She just loves the constant attention you feed her.

Sara, when she's around, you'll cup her face and give her headpats. She's... not used to this kind of affection but she's not complaining. She likes having you touching her, you always do it so softly as well.

"Can I run my fingers through your hair?" You had asked, stary-eyed staring at her.

She nearly stuttered but composed herself quickly, "If that's what you wish your grace." She lowered her head for you and you threaded your fingers through her locks, gently scratching her scalp.

You wanted to stay like this forever, your heart yearning to be close to her and Yae and Sara all the time, but could you have the courage to make it official?

Yae, quite obviously, didn't think you'd go through with it. Teasing you by getting close to you, but never close enough as you want.

She let you make the final step to finally hold her hand, cuddle into her side, if you wanted something, you'd have to make a move to get it.

Yae would also get closer with the other two girls.

Like when she nonchalantly wraps her arms around Ei, teases Sara right in front of you. It didn't really make you jealous, more-so upset that you couldn't say those were your girls.

But Yae teased you like there was no tomorrow over everything.

Like when Sara had thrown her hair back into a tiny ponytail, a simple outfit on, showing off all of her muscles. Yae had leaned into your ear, a smirk on her lips, "You're drooling."

Same happens when Ei is practicing blacksmithing. You and Yae accompanying her out of boredom... at least that's what Ei thought.

"Enjoying the view?" The sly fox flashed her teeth, "Don't worry, I am too." She winked, your face flushing a burning red.

"Your grace?" Ei paused in her work, and you focused your entire might into looking at her eyes and not anywhere else, "Maybe you should leave," She placed a hand on your forehead, her face an inch from yours, "You're burning up."

Meanwhile Yae had a permanent grin on her face, while you squeaked out that you'd rather be here.

Ei dropped the matter but Yae sure didn't.

Truth be told, Yae was getting a little frustrated you wouldn't just say anything. It was painfully obvious - to everyone but Ei and Sara - how much you loved the three women. You were practically tripping over yourself just to be near them.

You didn't need to do that, you had the whole world in the palms of your hands. It's not like they could say no even if they wanted to (trust them, though, they'd never even dream of saying no).

Yae could easily end it all, and she knew it well, it was the fact that you needed to take what you wanted. Yae had no troubles with it, but she knew how badly you wanted to pursue the three, and it'd be so easy for you to do so.

So take what's right in front of you, Yae will push you to do so until you're on the edge, facing your fears.

Really though there's nothing to fear. Who in their right mind would say no to you? The only reason you're not saying anything is your own pride and fear of feelings not being real.

...but when allowed full access to bask in the affections of a god, or gods for Sara and Yae... well it's too tempting an offer to refuse.

And that day when you do finally suck it up and say something, reach out for what you desire, they'll be there to grab you and hold you.

Sara is by far the least affectionate, even compared to the puppet Shogun.

But with three new s/os to constantly drown her in affection? She's near malfunctioning. She never expected this kind of treatment from anyone ever and now it's kind of sudden you know?

It'll have to be slow, she's not used to affection at all so please don't give her a heart attack. If you kiss her too much she'd explode. Any sort of affection, especially romantic, makes her dizzy.

Ei is mostly the same, but she's practically glued to your side like a puppy. With Yae, her relationship didn't really change- I mean they were unofficially dating already. But with Sara, well the Shogun knows her well. Ei though...

But if you, the Shogun... and Yae I guess, trusts and loves her then she'll do so too.

The relationship between the two is... unhealthy to be blunt. The only "healthy" relationship Sara has between the three of you is maybe Yae.

The power dynamics could kill the relationship, you and Yae see that well. So you emphasize how important it is that you and Ei work hard to create a bridge with Sara. Extra emphasis on you due to how above all of your acolytes you're made to seem.

It's a joy to see Sara opening up to you, Ei, and even Yae. To see her so openly complain and ask for things.

Simple things like "Those new soldiers are so annoying." As she grabs your hand with both of hers and holds it to her forehead, sighing.

You urge her to take a rest and when she complies, laying down on your lap, it makes your heart swell. Especially once your two other girlfriends join in and it makes the day so much more brighter <3

Yae can be surprisingly serious when it comes to your relationship. Despite her teasing she makes all three of you fully aware she's in love with all of you.

It's a surprisingly nice balance, one you were sure would never work out but look at you, being proven wrong once again by a sly kitsune.

[timewarpagain]

I am so sick of people trying to lecture others about being involved/interested in this whole mess. "PaRaSoCiaL ReLaTiOnSHiP" this "Entitlement™️" that, "yeah lol I like the Try Guys but I Don't Get why people care so much about-".

First of all, stop feigning ignorance as if the concept of gossip or community is foreign to you, you just come off as a try hard. I highly doubt you've gone your entire life without engaging in some sort of gossip or news that you heard about but didn't directly involve you. Like yeah we get it you're socially enlightened and Not Like Other Fans.

And you're right to an extent that fans aren't "entitled" to know every detail about a person's personal life. But considering the implications of the rumor (before it had been revealed to be true), the people involved, the fallout, and the very messy way the attempted coverup had been handled by the creative team, it's natural that people would be curious about what's going on. Like, you might have a point if this was some rando on the street or some lesser-known celebrity, or even one of the other Try Guys, but that doesn't really apply here. Ned's whole persona/Brand was built around him being a wholesome man in a group of guys who break down toxic masculinity and don't care about any preconceived notions about what it means to be a guy. Ned unabashedly loving and doting on his wife and child[ren] was a huge part of this. So many times in the media you get men who really seem like they don't care for their wives: the "Ball and Chain", "marriage is terrible", "Wife is a Nag", etc. crap, not to mention the amount of men who think that doing the bare minimum of parenting deserves praise or referring to taking care of their own kids as "babysitting".... but Ned wasn't like that. He outwardly cherished Ariel and their kids and never missed an opportunity to talk about them.

Ned cheating broke that sort of trust that he built with the viewers, destroyed the Wholesome Family Man image he projected, screwed over the Guys and their company, and most importantly hurt Ariel and their kids. And you could make the argument that we shouldn't be surprised by this because we didn't know everything about Ned's home life, and that private relationship issues should stay private, and to an extent I agree. However, that doesn't really work here because of multiple reasons.

If you remember the Paula Deen scandal, it's very similar to what happened here (and before you start screeching at me I'm not saying racism and cheating are the same thing). Paula Deen's image was that of a friendly and warm Southern grandmother, but when it was revealed that she'd used racial slurs in the past, it damaged that image and Food Network had to let her go. Ned's persona of being a devoted husband and caring family man is pretty much destroyed, and retroactively sours all the previous videos with or about Ariel and his kids. Second, he made no attempt to try and hide that he was cheating. He was out in public at a Harry Styles concert for fuck's sake. Did he really think no one would recognize him?

You can bitch and complain about "entitled fans" and "HE DOESN'T OWE YOU ANYTHING" or whatever, but that doesn't apply here. They've marketed their family, marriage, and children into videos, podcasts, books, and shows. You can’t make a career based on people’s investment in your relationship and then beg for privacy when you fuck it up. And considering that they also have a Patreon, I think the viewers have a right to know who they're giving their money to so they can make an informed decision about where it goes.

To add onto that, not only did he cheat on Ariel, but he cheated with an EMPLOYEE that he was the supervisor of, which is a legal and ethical nightmare. And his actions affect nearly everyone: Ariel and the kids, Alex's fiance, the company that now has to do some insane damage control and rebranding, lost his job, and destroyed his friendship with Keith, Zack, and Eugene.

Over a fling.

[sleeping-on-cracking-ice]

pls do part two of “you're everything you once hated” 🥺

Alright! I originally wasn’t going to do a Part 2 of this but a few people have asked so here you go! 😙

You’re Everything You Once Hated | Suguru Niragi

PART 1 | PART 2

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

{Main Masterlist}

Character(s): Niragi (ft. OC, Ann, Tatta, Hatter, Kuina)

Summary: You attempt to escape Niragi to replenish your visa by yourself, but he catches you and makes sure you won’t do it again

Warnings: (okay here we go) blood, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, obsessive themes, suggestive themes, graphic violence/torture, needles, being held hostage, deranged behaviour, reader is traumatised, implications of a panic attack, dehumanisation (kind of?), mention of amputation, mention of suicide, guns, knives, reader sees a corpse, minor character death

Word Count: 4.6k

*reader is female

Author’s Note: this is quite heavy and messed up, so I recommend people under 15 don’t read this

The young man leant against the large building, holding a small rose in his sweaty palms as he waited for you to arrive from your after school class. He winced as the thorns slightly caught on his olive skin. He sighed and craned his neck back to rest on the wall behind him. No matter how much he attempted to distract himself, the rate his heart was beating kept bringing the nausea to his stomach.

The sky was painted a soft mix of orange and pink as the sun began to fall asleep below the horizon. Valentine’s Day couldn’t have created a more romantic atmosphere for Niragi, he couldn’t mess it up now or he would let cupid down himself.

“What the hell am I even doing?” he questioned himself, wiping his brow with the back of his wrist. “She probably doesn’t even see me this way. We’ve been best friends for years, if she felt something she would’ve told me by now, right?”

He was stressing himself out, continuing the doubt whether his idea was good or not. He was considering dropping the rose and just walking away, being too afraid of the reality that he had been in love with you for years and had never been able to voice it. He felt embarrassed about himself, making his head fill with insecurities and doubts.

His phone vibrating in his pocket pulled him from his thoughts. Niragi reached into his blazer and pulled out his device, noticing a text from you.

‘I’m on my way,’ it read.

He heard your footsteps around the corner and straightened himself up, letting out a sigh to relieve tension. He knew there was no going back now, so he had no choice but to go ahead with his confession.

Just as he was about to turn the corner to meet you, he noticed a male voice that echoed yours, making him freeze in his tracks. He kept himself pushed against the wall, trying to listen to what you were saying.

“I mean, movies are cheap at the moment. Do you want to go see one together?” Niragi heard the boy say. His heart sank at the males words and his hand holding the rose fell from his chest to drooping towards the ground.

Your voice, that was all too familiar to Niragi, answered him. “Sure! I’m busy this afternoon, but I’m free this weekend on Saturday.”

Saturday. Niragi frowned. You and him always went to the park together every Saturday to have a picnic together. You wouldn’t forget about that, would you?

His disappointment turned into anger suddenly. The exhilarating emotions filled his mind and heart so quickly, it took him off guard. As his hand twitched slightly, he shook his head to remove the thoughts from his head.

“Okay, I’ll send you a text later to talk about times and stuff,” the boy said. Niragi’s curiosity got the best of him and he peeked his head around the side of the building to catch a glance of who you were with. He wished he didn’t.

It was one of the young kids that picked on him in Science class, which you weren’t in. Niragi felt betrayed, but tried to reassure himself that you just didn’t know what this guy was really like.

“Bye Y/N,” the boy muttered shyly, making Niragi fume at his fake behaviour. ‘He obviously is just trying to get in her pants,’ Niragi thought to himself, jaw clenching in annoyance at your blindness.

The boy leaned close to you and left a soft kiss on your forehead making you smile and wave happily as he walked away. As soon as he disappeared up the stairs a few metres up, Niragi leant back so you couldn’t see him.

He felt tears building in his eyes, so he quickly wiped them away before you found him. He jumped as he saw you turn the corner, hiding the rose he held behind his back.

“Hey Niragi!” you exclaimed, having the same gorgeous smile that you always conveyed around him. Usually the small action would make him melt into the ground. But at that moment, he didn’t think anything you did could make him feel better.

“You okay?” you asked, leaning close to his face with your eyebrows raised. His heart beat picked up, noticing how your lips were only a few inches away from his. He turned his face to the side, hiding his blush. “Yeah, I’m just tired,” he lied through his teeth.

As he kept up his innocent façade, small droplets of blood slowly drizzled down his wrist from the tight fist enveloping the thorned rose. His confined anger flowed through the blood that spilled from the cuts in his palm, but he didn’t feel a pinch of pain through his tensed muscles.

Perhaps one day, the world would give him another chance to show his love for you.

***************

You woke with a start as someone busted through the door of the room, looking around in a panic at who would enter so suddenly. Your eyes widened as you caught sight of Niragi, stumbling into the room with his usual sniper rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Sorry love, did I wake you?”

You stayed silent, sitting up properly and watching his movements closely. You didn’t trust a single thing he did or said, so you still remained on high alert whenever he was in this room alone with you, despite the fact you had been sharing the room with him for three days.

“You getting hungry? I brought some food up last night for you while you were asleep,” he said, placing his rifle on a small table. You watched as it collided with the wooden surface, flinching at the loud noise.

You hadn’t been able to leave the room since your injury. You had been shot in the foot by an overly sensitive militant woman who you weren’t even sure was still alive after the beating Niragi gave her in front of you. His behaviour during that time alone was enough to you terrified, especially the fact that it is impossible to run from him now.

But the lack of movement on your foot has proven to help and you have noticed the bullet wound healing quite well. The ointment and bandages you apply regularly on it (no help from Niragi) has been working perfectly, and you were praying for the moment you could move your stuff back to your own room and escape Niragi’s unpredictable and psychotic behaviour around you.

As if he read your mind, Niragi spoke up. “How’s your foot? Is it getting better?”

The sweet tone in his voice was so contradictory to his intentions. You hated the fact that he thought you fell for his fake façade. To be honest, he probably knew you didn’t believe him, but continued with it to keep you on your toes.

You glared at him through the top of your eyelids, keeping your head low in suspicion. As Niragi sighed from your unresponsive behaviour, he strutted over towards the bed that you were laying on. You panicked and used your arms to push yourself away from him, being terrified of his presence alone. Spending only a few days with him was enough to make you realise how despicable of a human being he actually was.

“Shh, calm down. It’s just me,” he attempted to calm you.

You froze as he sat on the bed nearby your legs. A pained expression grew on your face as he slowly lifted your injured foot to place it gently on his lap, running his hand carefully over the bandage you had applied before going to sleep.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, glancing up at you. You shook your head no, watching as he smirked slightly and turned back to it.

“I’m going to have a look at it,” he demanded, beginning to unravel the bandage on your foot.

You remained still, watching as he was unusually careful. It made your adrenaline run rapid, not knowing when he was going to suddenly snap.

As he pulled the final layer off your foot, relief filled you when you saw that it was still fine. The injury had turned into a small hole in the top of your foot, no blood or redness in sight. Maybe perhaps you could walk again soon, and be able to replenish your visa that was due to end in a few days.

Unfortunately, Niragi wasn’t as happy about this knowledge, and he intended to do something about it.

“Hmm,” he hummed in thought, leaning over to the night stand and picking up a small unwashed needle that he had kept there. It was left there by Ann a few days ago, as she had to come to the room to stitch up a cut that Niragi had obtained during a game.

Your eyes widened at the sight of him holding the needle close to your bullet wound. “W-Wait, Niragi,” you stuttered, nervous about his intentions. “What are you doing?”

Niragi glanced up at you, a devilish smirk painted across his face. His expression made your stomach churn and you attempted to pull your leg from his grip. Your heart rate picked up and you began to panic when he refused to let go.

“Don’t worry, this won’t hurt much. Just... try not to scream.”

Just as you were about to protest, Niragi pinned your foot onto his lap and pushed the tip of the needle as hard as he could into your bullet wound, making you let out a silent scream and thrash in his hold.

You screamed and screamed and screamed, a horrific pain continuously shot through your foot to your leg. You swore at some point it felt like he was cutting your foot off.

“NIRAGI!” you wailed. “STOP! PLEASE!”

You begged and begged through your cries of pain. After what felt like a century, Niragi pulled the needle out of your foot slowly and placed his hand over the wound to attempt to stop the bleeding. You were now lying on your back, sobbing lightly into the sheets and given up.

You felt Niragi caress your face with the back on his hand lightly. “My little princess needs to stay here, where I can keep her safe. You can’t leave. There’s horrible monsters at The Beach and I would hate for you to fall prey to one of them.”

You felt like screaming at him. How could he be so blind, so ignorant. He was the monster, and he failed to realise it.

He placed your leg off his lap, making you let out a small cry. Niragi crawled further up the bed next to you and sat on the sheets. You were facing away from him, not even daring to turn to look at him. You could hear him unbuttoning his checkered shirt, seeing it fly over your frame and land on the floor. A shiver made its way up your spine as Niragi’s hot breath hit the nape of your neck and his warm limbs snaked around your torso. He placed his hands underneath your shirt and softly caressed the skin of your stomach whilst nipping at the skin on your neck.

“You’re so pretty. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you over these years.”

His words sounded so loving, so sweet. But your reaction was the opposite of what he wanted. A slow, sorrowful tear traveled down your face and you began shaking in his embrace in fear of having him so close. You wanted to close your eyes and wake up back home, back in your own bed with your family’s hushed conversations spread throughout the house. This wasn’t home, this was absolute hell.

“Why are you shaking? Are you cold?” your tormentor asked. He removed his hands from underneath your shirt and pulled on your shoulders to make you turn over to face him. You kept your eyes shut tight, refusing to submit to his demands.

He pulled you close once again and placed his hand on the back of your head to push your face into his bare chest. Niragi’s usual smell of blood and metal filled your nostrils, making you grimace against him.

You continued to shake, not being able to control your movements. Niragi sighed, tucking his chin on the top of your head and nuzzling into your hair, taking a breath of the all too familiar scent of the shampoo you’ve always used for your hair. How you managed to find the exact one in the Borderland was beyond his understanding.

The smell made him feel at home. The comfort he found in you was too strong for him to handle, making him become deranged at the thought of you being back in his arms. It scared him, how much he actually depended on you to keep him happy.

And while he continued to hold you close and smile happily at the feeling of your soft breath against his chest, he failed to notice the continuous flow of tears that cascaded down your face and the shaking of your hands that gripped the top of your own thighs violently, trying to realise the tension of the adrenaline in your veins.

************

You had had enough.

Niragi did nothing but put you through absolute torture and trauma no matter how much you attempted to reason with his psychotic self. Bruises littered your body from his usual violence, committing to the awful promise that he was going to make sure you couldn’t leave the room.

You were imprisoned. It felt as if you were trapped in a cage that had the easiest lock in the world to pick, only you didn’t have hands to unlock it.

So two days after the needle incident, you decided you were going to escape, even if it killed you.

You had to replenish your visa, considering it ended the next night. You feared that Niragi would just leave you to die, not caring about your visa, so you had to take it upon yourself.

You may have had an infected bullet wound and a nearly crushed spirit, but you weren’t going to let this be your end. You had to at least try.

*************

“Oi, I’m leaving now,”

You shifted your eyes from your hands resting in your lap to the tall, deranged man who stood at the door of your room. He had his usual black and white buttoned shirt on, charcoal hair tied up at the top to keep it out of his face and his relaxed hand tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. You almost felt disappointed. How could such a handsome man be wasted by such a horrific mentality.

He carried his loaded sniper rifle in his arm, fiddling with the trigger as he awaited an answer from you.

You nodded your head and turned back to your hands, twiddling your thumbs nervously. You stayed frozen as you heard his footsteps make their way over to you.

Niragi lifted your chin with a harsh grip to your jaw and smashed his lips onto yours. You closed your eyes tightly in discomfort, feeling his desperate lips bite over yours hungrily. It made you feel sick to your stomach.

He pulled away, your lips connected by a string of saliva, making him chuckle. “I’ll be back kitten. Maybe I’ll bring you back a present,” he suggested, raising his eyebrows.

You nodded once again. You knew what he meant. Perhaps an amputated hand of one of your friends? Or the eye of a seeker/hunter to remind you of the “monsters” he’s hiding you from? At this point, you were desensitised to it.

The feeling on his lips on your head brought you from your thoughts. He softly stroked his hand through your hair, tucking slightly on the ends, making you wince.

“Stay here, and don’t answer the door if someone knocks.”

And with that, he left. You stayed completely still for a few minutes, waiting in case he decided to come back just to torment you further.

After you were sure he was completely gone, you shifted to the edge of the bed and swung your legs over the edge to stand up. You had practised walking around the room on your injured foot for the past few days when Niragi wasn’t there, so you had grown used to the random aches that shot up your leg from your bullet wound while walking.

You waddled to the door, slowly swinging it open and grabbing the small knife that sat on the table nearby. You had to have some kind of weapon in case something was to happen.

As you stepped outside, a few people were still making their way down the halls towards the lobby. You noticed a young man that you had somewhat befriended when you first arrived at The Beach named Tatta. He stopped in his tracks when he saw you, a smile growing on his face.

“Y/N! Where have you been?!” he exclaimed excitedly, running to you and throwing his arms around you in a playful embrace. You grimaced at his loud voice, being afraid of a certain someone potentially hearing him say your name.

“Hey Tatta,” you said back, giving him a right hug. You swore you felt like you could’ve cried in his arms from how deprived you were from normal human interaction without the fear of being assaulted.

“Are you coming to the games tonight?” he asked, pulling back from the hug and keeping a hand on your shoulder. You nodded. “Can I stick with you?” you asked with hope in your eyes. Tatta smiled and hit your arm lightly. “Of course! I’d feel better going with someone I knew.”

You agreed and began walking down the hall towards the lobby together in a comfortable. Tatta failed to notice you being more cautious, checking around corners before you turned and whipping your head around to glance behind you every now and then.

************

Just your luck, a ten of spades. You swore the world just wanted you dead. At that point, you had become used to the never-ending bullshit that was thrown your way.

You clawed your way to the table that held the card. Holding the single piece of cardboard between your fingers had never felt more satisfying. You slid down against the wall near the registration area, limbs shaking from the muscle strain you faced during the game. Tatta knelt in front of you, rubbing your knee in an attempt to comfort you, but nothing he could do would make you feel better.

Back at The Beach, you sat in the lobby on one of the leather couches, rubbing your foot to try and ease the aching pain coming from your wound. You had heard when you arrived back that the executives had called a meeting, so you weren’t too worried about running into Niragi.

You closed your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest, rolling your head back to rest against the couch. Moments like that were complete bliss. For a moment, you were able to forget your current situation.

A sudden hand on your shoulder ripped you from your meditation, and you turned your head to see none other than Kuina with a red face and heavily breathing from running. “Hey Y/N,” she started. You sat up and turned around fully to face you.

“The executives want you in the meeting. They heard you collected a high number card and they need you to deliver it.”

Your heart dropped at her words, realising what was coming for you. You had to walk into that meeting room, where Niragi stood. He was going to find out about your little adventure you had without him knowing. Adrenaline filled your senses from the thought of what he was going to do to you.

You slowly stood up, wiping your sweaty hands on your shorts and checking your card was still in the front pocket. You gulped heavily and nodded to Kuina. “Okay, I’ll head there now.”

Every step towards the meeting room was another towards hell. The more stairs you climbed, the more nausea filled your stomach, the more thoughts filled your head. You were seriously just considering throwing yourself off the roof of the hotel, as that seemed like a better option than facing Niragi.

You arrived in front of the double doors, freezing in your path. You don’t know how long you stood there, sighing shakily and attempting to crack your knuckles to relieve tension. But still, as you lifted your hand to push on the large wooden door, your arm shook like a leaf.

You trudged in, hearing the room fall silent at your entry. You refused to look up from the ground, keeping your widened eyes locked to the carpeted ground until you reached the end of the table.

“Ah, Y/N. Finally! Care to show your card?” you heard Hatter ask. You glanced up and caught sight of all the executives gathered around the table on chairs. One of which was of course Niragi.

You locked eyes with the psychotic man, and your stomach dropped when you saw the scowl on his face. He was staring directly into your soul, eyes hardened with anger and unforgiveness. If looks could kill, you would’ve been on the floor dead before you even made it to the table.

You focused on the task at hand and pulled the card from your pocket, placing the somewhat damaged ten of spades on the table. Hatter reached over and held it close to his face to examine it as everyone watched. Well, everyone except Niragi, who held his piercing gaze on you. You swore you could feel him burning holes through your skin.

“Hmm,” Hatter hummed in approval. “Thank you very much Y/N, that will be all,” he said, making a shooing movement towards you.

You nodded and thanked him before quickly walking out of the room. As soon as you stepped out, you broke into a sprint towards you and Niragi’s shared room.

You had to leave the room before the meeting finished. You feared the absolute worse.

When you arrived at the room, you ripped open the door and scrambled inside, groaning at the pain your foot was in. You didn’t have a choice, you had to hurry.

You made your way to the large closet, immediately reaching for the top shelf to pull down the miniature machine gun that Niragi stored up there as a spare. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to know about it, but you managed to spot him tucking it underneath the clothes at some point.

As you were shuffling around the cupboard trying to find some bullets desperately, annoyed and stressed sighs and gasps leaving your mouth, you froze when the sound of the door opening hit your ears. Immediately assuming the worst, you grabbed the door of the cupboard and closed yourself inside, attempting to enveloped yourself in the piles of clothes and resources.

The keyhole in the door of the cupboard allowed you to have a small space to look through. You closed one eye and glanced through the hole, spotting Niragi placing his sniper rifle on the bed and untying his hair, running his hands through it in stress.

You didn’t dare even breath, keeping all your limbs tucked close so you didn’t knock over anything. You were so afraid that Niragi would even hear the sound of your heart beating, as it was as loud as a drum in your own ears.

You grimaced as a sudden putrid smell filled your nose. The smell of fresh flesh that you were all too familiar with from living in the Borderland. You turned around in the cupboard and moved to the side so the light of the keyhole would at least somewhat illuminate the small space. The sight in front of you was enough to make you throw up.

There sat Tatta (or at least, Tatta’s remains), empty eyed and leaning against the back of the cupboard. Bullet holes littered his once kind face, probably counting eight at least. You covered your mouth in horror, letting out a loud cry at the sight, pushing your legs against the ground to scramble away from your dead friend.

Once again, just like the other day during the needle incident, you screamed and screamed and screamed. You fell backwards out of the closet, curling into a small ball and screeching into your palm in horror at the now clearer sight of your friend’s corpse. 

Everything was crumbling around you. Your voice was being ripped to shreds at the back of your throat. Your mind was falling apart, not being able to handle the traumatising events that you’ve faced, breaking and tearing itself apart. Your body was broken. Bruises and scars scattered your frame like an artwork, each one holding a connected traumatic event.

Niragi sat on the bed, watching as you screamed on the ground over by the corner of the room, tears sliding down his tanned cheeks.

What had happened to you? Why did you change so much in these few years?

Niragi slowly stood and made his way over to your shaking frame, hooking his arms underneath your shoulders and knees to lift you bridle style. He smiled sadly down at your shivering frame, not being able to control your rapid movements.

“Aw baby, you’re a mess,” he cried, a sob escaping his mouth halfway through his sentence.

He brought you back over to the bed, crawling on his knees to the centre of the mattress and crossing his legs to lay you in his lap with your head tucked into the crook of his elbow.

He brushed your hair with his fingers, trying to ease your breathing as you kept your eyes tightly shut in fear. “I tried to warn you. Look what happened,” he chuckled through his tears, motioning his head over towards the cupboard. “Do you like your present? I saw you walking with him on your way back to the hotel and thought it would be perfect. Why don’t you like it?”

You opened your eyes and looked up at him with fear all written all over your face. You didn’t dare move from his embrace, being too afraid.

Niragi smiled as he caught sight of your glistening eyes, reaching a hand up and stroking his thumb along your cheek. “You’re so pretty,” he breathed out, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

You brought your shaking hands up and rubbed your face before finally speaking up. “I want to go home,” you desperately whispered, turning your head and pressing your face against Niragi’s clothed chest. He watched as you brought your hand up and gripped the material of his shirt in your fist tightly, conveying anger and stress through your grip.

“You are home kitten,” he states, rubbing his cheek against your head. “I’m your home. I always have been.”

He wasn’t lying to you, and that was the pill that was hard to swallow. Niragi had been your source of comfort for so long, and for once in your life, it felt foreign to lay in his arms and to look into his night eyes.

Oh how weird it felt to look at something that conveyed such sweetness, such delicacy and such empathy, only for it to be utterly ruined by its environment.

You’d like to think that it wasn’t either of your faults. But in the end, it doesn’t depend on the environment, it depends on how you react to it.

Neither of you were perfect, but you were both incredibly different. It never would’ve worked between the two of you, and being in the Borderland did nothing but strengthen that fact. In the end, your differences would either tear you apart from each other emotionally, or you would tear each other apart limb from limb.

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! I’m back to finishing off the fanfic requests that have been sent to me because I finished all the prompt scenarios. I won’t be doing another part to this because I honestly struggled for so long trying to figure out a plot for this one 😭 But anyway thanks so much for your patience. I’ll be uploading these fanfics as quick as I can! ❤❤

Small addition to this fanfic talking about Niragi’s motives and intentions

[mygodyouredivine]

The Hell In Your Eyes - 3

Summary: Loki doesn't meet her until two weeks after his initial imprisonment, but he knows he hates her. He has to hate her. Because the way she talks to him and helps him and saves him meals can't mean anything. She is too soft to deal with Loki, who is hardened with pain, pain, and more pain. And Loki hates soft things.

Have you ever seen the hell in someone’s eyes and loved it anyway?

Characters: Loki Laufeyson/(f)Reader

Warnings: brief mentions of violence

Word Count: 4836

Previous Chapter

Loki is annoyed.  

Loki has sat through thousands of years of political dinners, exchanging thinly veiled insults under a layer of diplomacy, all while smiling through his teeth. Loki has spewed sensical nonsense, charming naive, innocent maids and sweeping young stable boys off their feet. Loki has endured Odin’s wrath — in all its horrible glory — countless times, and never once had he shed a tear, nor had a single cry escaped his lips.  

The whole of Asgard had coined him the Dark Prince — and who was Loki to disappoint? 

He had long since learned people saw what they expected to see. 

And so as the entire realm rejoiced in his demise, as Laufey left him to die, as Odin condemned him for eternity, as Thor abandoned him, as Frigga had sided with her husband again and again and again, Loki maintained his carefully constructed front.  

Yet one encounter with a mortal, and he had unraveled at her feet.  

If physically kneeling before the wretched creature wasn’t enough, he knew she had seen past his mask. By the time he had regained his composure, he was sure she had seen him.  

It won’t happen again.  

Loki is a god, and gods do not crack. Gods maintain their image, regardless of circumstance. Gods do not show weakness, do not show vulnerability.  

This is a lesson Loki knows well, a lesson etched into his skin countless times by Odin’s hand.  

And yet for each time Odin reinforced this lesson, the very same lesson was burned away by Thanos a thousand more. 

Loki tried, he truly did. Loki maintained his godly facade for an impressive amount of time, resisting as his body was taken apart over and over and over again. Perhaps it wasn’t as long as he thought. Loki feels as if his entire life was spent doused in agony, spent with his flesh melting off and his bones withering away. 

Ultimately, a god is no match for a Titan.  

But a mortal is no match for a god.  

And yet, Loki has found himself at her feet — at her mercy — twice. 

Even after, Loki couldn’t bring himself to summon his cruel exterior. Perhaps it had to do with the way she had waltzed into his space, all soft and defenseless, carrying that deplorable drink as if it was the elixir of eternal life (unfortunately, it tasted just as divine). Perhaps it was his body, still sated and full for the first time in months, reminding him of the food — the debt — he owes. Perhaps it was the way she held out her arm towards him, even though he could see it shaking.  

Whether it was any of these things or none at all, Loki’s cool mask of indifference was rendered utterly useless at her delicate, mortal hands.  

Loki hates her.  

His hatred fills every fiber of his being. It’s a scalding, fiery hatred, much unlike the frozen excuse of Loki’s heart. His frost giant heritage seems to reject her very being.  

Loki hates her voice, hates her hands, hates her. He hates how she makes him falter when there is no place for mistakes.  

Loki’s thoughts are interrupted by Thor, who enters Loki’s quarters without an ounce of hesitation — ever the righteous, confident, arrogant bastard. 

Ah, but Loki almost forgot. Thor is not the bastard — Loki is. How despicable; for really, Loki can not even call himself a bastard. Yet, ‘the Bastard Son of Odin’ has a certain charm to it. Perhaps another false title for his collection.  

“Loki!” Thor booms, “Here are your clothes that Lady Angel washed. You should be grateful brother, for she offered of her own volition — ” 

Is it so surprising someone would offer to help Loki without external influence?  

“ — to see and visit you! You are doing well. I am happy to see you are finally making an effort to get to know all of our friends — ” 

Thor is happy? For Loki, or for himself? Why must Loki, even now, strive to prove himself to Thor? Why is Loki’s worth solely dependent on Thor’s judgement?  

“ — and Lady Angel is absolutely wonderful. I am delighted to see you two getting along so well! I can’t believe you finally made a friend— ” 

At this, Loki’s composure cracks for the second time that day.  

“What am I? A pathetic child wandering aimlessly through a school corridor? A helpless hatchling at the mercy of others — groveling for the bare minimum? Who are you to congratulate me for ‘making a friend?’ She is not a friend ,” Loki spits out. He can feel his teeth grinding against each other, his fingernails once again digging into his palms. “She is nothing more than another worthless mortal, unworthy of even breathing the same air as I, and yet you suggest I be grateful?” 

Thor advances on Loki, his eyes hardening. The atmosphere is tense; unlike the typical bickering between the brothers, Loki identifies something distinctly different in the way the air vibrates. The space between the two gods crackles. “Watch yourself brother —” 

Brother. The word grates upon Loki’s nerves. How can Thor so carelessly throw the word around, even knowing of its false implications — implications and lies Loki foolishly believed.  

Sometimes Loki wonders if Thor does it on purpose.  

“Do you hear yourself Thor? Bending yourself over backwards to defend this wasted excuse of consciousness — you are the King of Asgard. What is she? She is nothing.” 

And now Loki is no longer staring at his brother, but the ceiling of his prison. His back is slammed against Stark’s hardwood floors and there is sharp ringing in his ears, likely the result of the crack in the floor right behind where his head is currently embedded.  

Loki almost laughs. 

Truly, it is comical — comical that even now, Thor’s first instinct is to physically threaten Loki. As if Loki doesn’t almost enjoy it. 

But Loki’s laugh catches in his throat, prevented from escaping by the large hand tightening around his airway.  

Thor’s hand is around Loki’s neck — a mirror of His. 

A thousand years Loki has known Thor. A thousand years of childish brawls, foolhardy battles, pointless arguments. How many times has Loki betrayed Thor? Thor betrayed Loki? And yet, Loki believed he knew his brother’s character.  

A thousand years Loki has known Thor, but never once has he thought Thor to be cruel.  

Oh how wrong he is.  

Thor’s hands are gripping Loki’s neck and for the life of him Loki can’t breathe. He tries to draw air into his lungs — lungs that are screaming with a familiar ache — and fails. Phantom pains flicker across his entire body and somehow, in the second before his vision goes black, Loki manages to croak out a strangled wheeze of a laugh.  

Loki is once again strapped upon a bed of coals, once again stabbed with blades of flame, once again torched with fire so hot he freezes. Loki remembers the only other time he begged — begged and pleaded for the sweet mercy of death, all while knowing death was a pleasure he was never to be granted.  

Loki is once again kneeling — boneless — at the feet of a Titan, looking up into a face promising endless pain, a face painted with the patience of a thousand moons and splattered with the ruined blood of a Frost Giant. 

Loki did not know that a Frost Giant’s blood could boil. 

Ah, but the Mad Titan knew, and he ensured Loki would never forget.  

Loki recalls the moment he let go — an eerie echo of his fall from grace, his fall from the Bifrost. And he remembers the horribly invasive power of the scepter, along with the blessed relief and utter disregard for self preservation that followed. 

And it is this — the relief — that plagues Loki. He does not fool himself; Loki may be the God of Lies, but he has no reason to lie to himself . It is not the destruction of New York nor the deaths at his hand that weigh upon his shattered mind. No, it is the fact that Loki found solace in his actions.  

Make no mistake — Loki does not rejoice in his crime, but nor could he say he regrets it. 

For if Loki were given the choice, he could not — would not — choose to spare Midgard at the cost of his own sanity. 

(But Loki was never given a choice.) 

Alas, Loki is already insane. 

The Mad Titan has taken so much from Loki.  

Physically, Loki has long since disregarded his own body. He remembers the beginning of his torture, when he still held the title of 'Prince of Asgard,' when he spoke with arrogance and oozed of indignantion. Oh how naive he had been. When the first whips had landed across his skin, Loki's thoughts could never have anticipated what the coming months would entail. Loki did not once stop to consider how he would escape the clutches of his captor — oh the confidence he held! — but instead lamented the scars he would surely have to bear. Dimly, Loki recalls worrying over his marred skin, irritated at the blemishes he would surely have to cover when taking future lovers.  

Loki scoffs.  

Loki does not recognize the man who spent time thinking of lovers. Or of his physical appearance. Or of his interests. Or of any other insignificant pleasure that ultimately contributes to the annihilation of a soul. 

(Even now, Loki carries with him an irrational fear of physical touch — a seed planted by the Mad Titan that Loki cannot gouge out, not even if he tore open his very being.) 

In fact, Loki wondered if his corporeal form had even existed anymore. But most of all, more than the ruination of his physical form, Loki mourns the damnation of his mind. 

Ultimately, the Mad Titan did triumph over Loki. For no matter how many times Loki escapes, fakes his death, runs away, he can never evade the visions that haunt his mind, the voices that infect his thoughts, the termites eating away at what remains of Loki’s sanity. 

(If Loki were given a choice, he would have chosen death again and again and again.) 

Alas, Loki was not — is not — given a choice, for suddenly he is not lying on a bed of coals, but on his apartment floor again. Thor has since removed his hand from Loki’s neck and Loki half wishes Thor just kept it there. Just kept on squeezing and squeezing and squeezing until Loki died on that bed of coals.  

Loki wonders, if he were to die at Thor’s hand, would his brother feel remorse? Or perhaps, more realistically, relief?  

Unfortunately, Loki is not dead, and Thor is gazing at him, concern evident in his gaze. As if Thor wasn’t the one who put Loki in this condition — wasn’t the one who greedily snatched all of Odin’s affection, wasn’t the one who pushed Loki out of favor, wasn’t the one who led his brainless minions in a brash suicide mission, as if Thor wasn’t the one who stared Loki in the eye as Loki let go into the abyss.  

As if Thor wasn’t the first domino in a long ripple effect that eventually drowned Loki in his sins.  

Thor was the smooth pebble that young children skipped over lakes, just barely skimming the surface of a tempting downfall — nevertheless gracefully leaping unscathed across the reflective waters. Yet Loki was the jagged, unskippable rock, destined to fall through the air and fall through the water with no hesitation. Loki has long since come to terms with this simple fact.  

No longer does Loki resent his brother, for he understands: light can only shine in the presence of darkness. And if Loki is condemned to darkness — so be it.  

Loki does not resent his brother, but oftentimes Loki despises his lightness . What some might say is endearing — the inability for Thor to give up — is just a burden. Even now, Thor still thinks he can change Loki, can fix him. Thor still thinks that by vouching for Loki and providing Loki a place to live and surrounding Loki with Thor’s friends that he can mend Loki’s broken soul and bring back the brother he once had. Thor is still in denial — he refuses to grasp the very simple concept that Thor’s brother — the Second Prince of Asgard, God of Lighthearted Mischief — is long dead. And so Thor continues to try. But light yelling into the darkness does not change it.  

And even now, with Thor looming above Loki, Loki does not resent his brother.  

But Loki resents Thor’s very being — the core of who Thor is. Thor is a duality; one of naivety and compassion, yet tainted — or perhaps embellished — with a smidge of cruelty and arrogance.  

And as Thor is speaking to Loki, mouth forming words Loki is too tired to hear, Loki simply lies on the floor, limbs relaxed around him, throat sore, and does the only thing he can do when feeling so utterly empty.  

Loki laughs.  

______________________________

Midgard is rather charming in some regards.  

Loki will eventually have to investigate the laundry process, for he has just now made the curious discovery that freshly dried clothes are warm . He suspects they were warmer right after they were dried, but he can still feel the presence of the heat, lingering within the very fabric of his garments. He wonders just how much they were heated up to — would it have burnt his frozen hands at the peak of its fiery glory? 

No, Loki’s hands are too well accustomed to fire now. 

But he doubts that her hands are. He envisions Angel pulling his clothes out of the dryer, her hands touching the same clothes that he has worn, that he will wear, that he is currently touching.  

Yet is it entirely possible Loki is standing around, imagining a scene that never played out, for it was not Angel who brought Loki’s laundry back to him, but his dearest brother. Looking at his pile of clothes again, Loki takes in the telltale signs of Thor. The messily folded shirts stare back at Loki, mocking him.  

He wonders if she ever even did any part of his laundry. Perhaps she only offered it as a way to ease the uncomfortable tension that had arisen earlier. Or rather, (and his stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought) she lugged his laundry basket downstairs and dumped it straight into Thor’s arms. 

Why else would she refuse his help to accompany her?  

A twinge of something rises up within Loki as he realizes she accepted Thor’s offer to bring his clothes back. Or, much more likely, she had pushed the task onto Thor in a desperate attempt to avoid encountering him again.  

Not that Loki could blame her. 

And yet the uncomfortable sensation within Loki only grows, and he realizes that he feels something akin to disappointment. Loki cannot allow himself to feel disappointment. He had long since learned not to expect anything from anyone — or perhaps, much more cynically, to only depend on — to trust — himself.  

Trust, Loki knows, is a fickle concept the naive embrace. Trust itself is ill fated, the certainty of an inevitable betrayal the same as the certainty that one day everyone living on this cursed realm will perish.  

Loki hates Angel. He hates how she pretends to care for him, hates how she imitates Thor, hates how she always finds a way to break him, and Loki hates how Angel makes him feel.  

Loki's silent anger boils inside of him — like the steady countdown of a ticking bomb — manifesting itself out of him as the laundry basket is violently launched across the room. 

He hates how he feels absolutely no satisfaction at the way the freshly clean clothes scatter across the floor, hates how he lost control, and hates how the damned mortal forces him to feel emotions he does not want to feel . 

Sometimes all Loki can do is hate. 

______________________________

The heat from the clothes have long since seeped into the floor. 

The sun is just now setting, dousing Loki’s room in a fiery glow. Warm light spills across Loki’s bookshelves, his impeccably made bed, the clothes strewn around his floor. Loki sits on the ground, bare of his illusions, allowing himself to just be .  

Staring across the room, he notices tendrils of light carefully curling around the air, miniscule particles of dust dancing in the golden glow. This is a gold Loki enjoys. Unlike the brash, loud character of Thor’s gold — of Asgard’s gold, this is a much softer, gentle color. The comforting hue reminds Loki of his mother, and against his will, he feels a wall of despair beginning to build within his chest.  

For a second, Loki loses himself as the wall crashes over him. He drops his head, allowing his hair to dangle in front of his face, obscuring his view of the floating particles. He feels like a child — wants nothing more in this moment than to run to Frigga, for her floral scent to fill his senses as she envelopes him in her arms. What Loki wouldn’t give to have Frigga’s delicate fingers comb through his hair just once more, for her soft lips against his forehead, murmuring words of comfort.  

But he can’t have that. Instead, here he is, sitting on the floor of a glorified prison in the midst of a community of people who hate him, with nothing but Thor to act as his buffer. 

Looking up, Loki gazes at the honeyed light as it glides over a particular heap of clothing. He watches, mesmerized, as the light gently moves, unhurriedly bathing each corner of the fabric in its rich glow.  

If he were still on Asgard, Loki would most likely have been reading, thoroughly immersed in some story or another. The sun would have showered his pages in its quiet glow, lighting the words aflame. He would have taken a stroll in his mother’s gardens, breathing in the sweet scent of her flowers as he sat in his favorite hidden alcove. He would have taken out his book and continued to read, read until the golden hue of the sun was replaced by the tender shine of the moon. Only then would Loki return, serenely walking back to his chambers, stopping only to retrieve a cup of tea, and resume his reading on his balcony.  

Loki wants that. 

Loki wants an afternoon to himself, with no worries plaguing his mind. 

Loki wants to be able to read, and to do so in an environment which permits him to let his guard down. 

Loki wants to sit outside, surrounded by flowers, and watch as the sun transitions into the moon. 

Loki wants to indulge in a hot cup of tea as he watches the moonlight spills across the pages of his book. 

Loki wants so many things — and he can’t have any of them. 

Standing up, Loki decides he has spent enough time reminiscing over what he cannot have today. He feels sticky and hot and cold and hungry and all he wants right now , is a long shower.  

And so Loki walks over to the same pile of clothes, now dull and abandoned by the sun, gazing disapprovingly downwards. Thor is truly an imbecile, for he has not even managed to separate their clothes correctly. Loki is currently staring at a dark green sweatshirt, one he knows for a fact he has never seen before. Tiredly, he tosses it upon his bed and scoops up a clean change of clothes, then turns around and trodds slowly into the bathroom.  

______________________________

Water droplets rain all around Loki, swiftly sliding down his body. 

He doesn’t particularly enjoy showering — it reminds him too much of another substance: denser, stickier, and much more red, trickling down his skin. Loki much prefers baths. Baths, however, render their subject very much vulnerable, and Loki does not fancy risking any more vulnerability than strictly necessary.  

So Loki is standing in the shower, unabashedly soaking up the shallow warmth the water provides. Surely if Thor could see him, his brother would lecture Loki on wasting Midgard’s precious resources. But, Loki reasons, if Stark truly possesses the excess of wealth he boasts of, Loki’s water usage will not be of much concern to the man. And so this is a luxury Loki will grant himself.  

The shower is one place where Loki feels the safest, where he allows his thoughts to wander and drift into otherwise forbidden territories. Today especially has been challenging, and even his muscles seem to ache, the fibers pulling away from each other, trying to rip Loki apart from the inside out. His mind is exhausted, filled with swirling thoughts of Frigga and Angel and Thor, with the occasional Odin and Titan intruding whenever a particular body part cries out.  

And as Loki gazes down at his body, the disfigured canvas of scars stare back at him and he attempts to soothe away the countless aches. No matter how much time has passed and how much magic Loki pours into himself, the pains never seem to retreat. Rationally, Loki knows it doesn’t make sense. He knows his magic is fully capable of healing himself, knows that by all accounts he is healed.  

But Loki also knows he does not imagine the sharp pains coursing through his veins.  

He is fighting himself — the part of himself that does not want the pain to stop. Because all Loki knows is pain, and he fears the absence of pain almost as much as he dreads its glorious presence.  

Loki raises his head, allowing for the stream of water to bruise his face. And if Loki’s closed eyes leak the occasional tear, no one would know.  

______________________________

Loki’s self destructive spiraling is abruptly cut short by three succinct knocks from his bedroom door. Still soaking in the shower, Loki debates whether or not to answer; after all, he truly has no desire to see his brother again today. Or preferably, ever again. Unfortunately, Loki is all too aware that if he does not answer the door to let Thor in, Thor will simply let himself in. And if there’s anything worse than seeing Thor, it will be seeing a displeased Thor while Loki stands nude and wet.  

Reluctantly, Loki turns off his shower, changes into his freshly washed ‘sweatpants’, and leisurely walks towards the door. He is honestly surprised Thor hasn’t invited himself in yet. He is more surprised when he finally opens the door and is promptly met with — not Thor’s brutish face, but the goddamned mortal.  

She stands there, in front of his door, barely out of arm's reach. Loki can’t help but drink her in. He notices her hair, laying loosely around her face, framing her profile. She’s sporting a sweater, much too warm for the present weather. Its collar is stretched out over years of use, teasing his eyes with a fraction of her collarbones peaking through. Her legs are barely covered by absurdly short shorts, and Loki feels the back of his ears heating up. Hurriedly, he averts his eyes, falling down to her feet, once again hugged by soft looking socks — mismatched.  

His scrutinization is interrupted by her voice; so soft.  

“Hey! Sorry if I interrupted you. I heard you were in the shower but I was going around taking everyone’s dinner orders. We’re getting Chinese.” She tilts her head to the side, lifting her chin ever-so-slightly, distractedly exposing the tantalizing skin of her neck. She swallows, and Loki’s eyes discreetly follow the bob of her throat. “I was just wondering if you wanted anything?” 

It takes a moment for Loki to register her question and another for him to process it. She is going to order dinner? For him? And she is asking him for his preference? Loki has not had the privilege of preferring anything in a long, long time. Damn this mortal. 

“I am not familiar with this particular cuisine, nor Midgard’s in particular.” 

She meets his eyes then, and only after does it occur to him that her eyes had been previously glued to his abdomen. His abdomen, he realizes which has been bare this entire interaction. “That doesn’t answer my question.” 

He forces himself to roll his eyes, running a hand through his still dripping hair to hide the scarlet his ears have surely become. “I am saying that I do not have a preference, woman.” 

She lifts her shoulders briefly in a gesture Loki has come to associate with Midgard’s daftness and promptly moves closer to him. Instinctively, Loki takes a step back, then curses himself for doing so. He truly must be losing it, backing away from a defenseless mortal. But she doesn’t push further, instead tilting her head at that angle again, asking him another question.  

“Can I come in?” 

Loki hesitates. He doesn’t understand her motives, doesn’t know if this is a trick the Avengers have set up or perhaps a test designed by his brother. All he knows is that Angel is staring at him with her eyes wide and innocent and completely devoid of deceit.  

Angel must carry magic or Loki must be possessed by the Mind Stone again, for against his will, Loki steps to the side, allowing her to brush past him. The sleeve of her sweater comes into contact with Loki’s stomach, and he jerks away.  

Awkwardly, Loki closes his door and turns to face the mortal, noting how hilariously out of place she looks, standing in the midst of Loki’s domain. With a wave of his hand, the previously scattered articles of clothing fly onto his bed, meticulously folding themselves. Angel’s surprised, quiet gasp does not escape his notice. She walks towards his bed, small hand landing on Thor’s sweatshirt.  

“Take that when you leave.” Loki internally bristles at his own tone, noticing how Angel’s shoulders locked up when he spoke and did not relax when he stopped. “Please,” he adds. 

To his surprise (again), Angel approaches him, sweater in hand. “Why?” 

At this, Loki is caught off guard. Without warning, he is overwhelmed by distaste. His patience has been tested over and over again, and he does not have even a drop more to deal with this mortal’s incompetence. His hatred for her rushes back, multiplied a thousandfold. Who does she think she is and why will she not leave Loki alone? Why must she cut short his relaxation, intrude upon his personal space, inquire after him when he knows — he knows — she does so unwillingly? Why is she holding up Thor’s goddamned sweater, pretending not to know why Loki hates it so? As if she doesn’t know it belongs to Thor. 

In fact, Loki is positive she is intimately aware of whom it belongs to, undoubtedly so. He hates Angel, hates her for reluctantly offering her help, hates her for her smoothies, hates her for asking him about his preferences. Briefly, he envisions snapping her neck. Effortlessly. But the image makes him recoil, bringing about not satisfaction, but horror.  

His fists clench, his broken fingernails once again digging into bruised skin. It costs Loki an immeasurable amount of self control not to simply throw her out, hurl her from his quarters. Instead, he snaps at her. 

“Girl, do not test my patience. I am warning you, it has been a very long day and if you do not exit extremely promptly, it will not end well for one of us.” 

Loki hates the way her shoulders tense up again, hates the way she physically flinches away at his dismissal.  

Loki hates how though he can sense her increasing heartbeat, her nervousness, Angel still looks him in the eye and informs him, in a terrified voice coated with forced calm, “I’m sorry to hear that Loki. I added this sweater into your laundry after it was done, but I should have known it would not have been welcome.” 

Loki hates how she then drops her eyes, staring intently at her mismatched socks.  

“I’ll just leave your dinner outside.” 

Loki hates how she leaves, her hands gripping Thor’s — his — sweatshirt tightly, footsteps moving at a much brisker pace.  

Loki hates how Angel closed off, how he closed her off.  

Loki hates how Angel clearly did do his laundry. 

Loki hates how Angel thought of him, giving him an extra sweatshirt, offering him a choice for dinner. 

Loki hates Angel more than he hates Thor, more than he hates Odin. 

Loki hates Angel more than he hates the Mad Titan.  

The only person Loki hates more than Angel is himself. 

Fuck. 

______________________________ 

We don't even ask for happiness, just a little less pain.  

- Charles Bukowski 

______________________________

Previous Chapter

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~

Taglist: @spacedaddydinn @doct0rstrange

[katnissmellarkkk]

Chapter Four

“Dang it!” I bellow eight days later, as my body gives way and topples over, having used too great of force to yank a now dead primrose from the ground.

Yesterday morning I had come outside to discover the yellow evening primroses, the flowers Peeta had planted upon his arrival back in Twelve, had all but died.

And I didn’t even notice. I’ve been so distracted with everything else going on in my life—namely Peeta and his blonde companion—that I entirely forgot about the flowers. The flowers that my sister was named for. The flowers meant to represent her when she was no longer alive to represent herself.

The idea that I could forget the plant, that I let myself lag on the simple duty of keeping them alive and watered and healthy, felt as if I had let my little sister down all over again. It felt as if I’d failed Prim a second time.

And it’s more than I can handle. I can’t even endure the thought. The very implication that I am, in any way, dishonoring my sister’s memory is entirely unbearable. Even if it is just me implying it, inside my head.

But in any case, it looks like the primroses are too far gone and I don’t have even a chance at resurrecting them back to life. I took too long to notice their wilting, I was too caught up in other things, that I let the plants die and now there’s no going back.

For a split second I consider returning one of my mother’s many calls to ask for gardening advice. She has always had a green thumb and been able to grow whatever she set her mind to. I never had any of those skills. I was a hunter by nature, not a nurturer.

No, that was Prim. The soft and gentle one, who loved animals, who could heal any wound she could identify, who could garden and grow herbs just as well as our mother.

And I miss her so much. I miss my little sister so very much that I almost breakdown into tears right then and there, right in front of the dead primrose bush outside my house.

“Katniss?” I hear someone call in the distance. I recognize the voice instantly.

And rapidly get up and make a beeline towards my front door.

Unfortunately he’s determined to catch me. After eight solid days of evasion, Peeta is dead set on catching me at any given opportunity before him.

It’s almost funny how once upon a time it was him who wished to avoid me. It was him who craved distance between us, who acted icy and detached at every encounter, whether forced or by chance.

Now it’s him trying to force an encounter between us, trying desperately to make up for hurting me, trying to still be a part of my life, even after I pronounced our relationship finished.

The bread he left on my doorstep—that I immediately tossed in the garbage—is proof of that. The cheesebuns he left on my counter who met their demise to a flock of birds on my back porch is proof of that. The cookies he baked and passed through Greasy Sae when I went to trade at the new, rebuilt Hob is glaring proof of his efforts.

I did actually eat those but I made sure to do it in private, where Peeta would never know if his token was accepted or not.

Because I don’t want him to think we’re okay. I don’t want Peeta to believe me and him can still be friends, with Bailey Robyn, the uptight, controlling blonde still lingering over his every move.

Okay, maybe I’m being a bit overdramatic. Bailey isn’t residing over Peeta’s every action. She probably doesn’t even know he’s made all these treats for me. And she surely wasn’t sitting by his side in the corner of Greasy Sae’s booth when our eyes briefly met before I stubbornly stormed out.

But I feel like she is. I feel her presence overcast in every one of Peeta’s actions, in every deed he partakes in, in every moment I run into him. Maybe it’s only inside my head but it’s enough reason for me to avoid Peeta. It’s enough reason that I wish to stand by my words eight days ago and cut him directly out of my life. With a chainsaw if necessary, I wish to cut the invisible cord that has tied me and him together for so long now.

“Katniss!” Peeta calls again, his arms grasping my waist just in time to prevent my escape into the house.

“Go away,” I mutter under my breath, ire and ache still seeping off me even after a week separating this moment here with our last interaction.

“Why are you upset?” He asks, a little breathless now from the race to my front door. But even tired, concern still manages to leak into his tone. His blue eyes still show anxiety for my well-being.

And it’s still not enough to thaw me.

“You know why,” I say rigidly, pulling my front door open and shoving his hands away from me.

“No, no, I mean,” he quickly tries to correct his question. “I meant, what’s happened out here that has you upset?”

I audibly huff, my eyes about as warm as a popsicle in a snowstorm. The last thing I want to do is stand here and recount just about anything to Peeta, especially in regards to the way I’m currently feeling.

Especially after the last time we spoke about our feelings, when I chose to let him in and allowed him to see the vulnerable parts of me that I never trust anyone with.

Only for him to turn around and side with Bailey over me.

But knowing how persistent Peeta can be when properly determined—his intensity to train like a Career, Brutus’ murder and him warning District Thirteen about Snow’s incoming attack all fly to the top of that list—I merely gesture widely to my backyard, where the dead flowers lie.

It only takes Peeta a moment to click it all together, to his credit. Though I’m hesitant to even offer him that right now.

“I’ll replant them,” he instantly offers, like a dog begging to fetch his owner a carcass bone.

“Don’t bother,” I say, about as rude and uninviting as humanly possible. “It’s not your responsibility.”

I’m just stepping into the house when Peeta’s hand shoves on the door, hard enough to keep it open. For a split second, I contemplate putting all my strength behind it and slamming his fingers in the door. But even as mad as I am—even as wounded as I am—I won’t physically harm Peeta.

After all, he already lost his leg once about I tied it in a tourniquet. I may have saved his life but I also cost him half a limb and that thought alone stops me from nearly taking his fingers off too.

“Katniss, I want to,” he pleads and his eyes are so big and blue and I feel my heart involuntarily melt a bit upon at the sight. “I want to replant them.”

I release an unconscious breath, for the first time in over a week not completely hostile towards the boy with the bread, who in my eyes, completely turned his back on me. Or so it feels. “I’ll just end up killing them again, Peeta. I’m serious. Don’t even bother.”

“Then I’ll tend to them,” Peeta throws out, getting more and more desperate the more I refuse, it seems.

I’m about to brush off his offer once again when another voice joins us. “Oh, let him do it, sweetheart. The boy needs a hobby besides baking,” Haymitch chimes in, standing at the bottom of my porch, looking drunk as ever.

“You love that baking is his only hobby,” I shoot back at the paunchy, old man.

“Well, not anymore. Since you two started fighting he’s been making me fat. I need a break.”

I’m about to come back with another comment, probably one to suggest Haymitch doesn’t have to eat everything Peeta brings, when we’re joined by a third presence.

Of course, she has to join us. Bailey can’t seem to let Peeta go anywhere without her nowadays.

“What’s going on?” She murmurs, looking around at all our tense body language. Well, at mine and Peeta’s tense body language. Haymitch is currently sitting on the bottom step of my porch now, as relaxed as Buttercup is in the window.

Peeta opens his mouth to respond but then shuts it again, glancing back at me. I don’t know if it’s the fact that he doesn’t wish to discuss his offer to help me with his girlfriend or if it’s the fact that he clearly knows I dislike the notion of Bailey in my business, but either way I’m a little pleased when he closes his mouth and adverts eye contact away from the blonde.

Instead it’s my drunken mentor who elaborates. “The girl’s flowers died. Your boyfriend just wants to replant them.”

To my utter astonishment, Bailey seems amendable to the idea. “The flowers for your sister?” She inquires, looking right at me. I shoot her a quizzical—and perhaps slightly unfriendly—look out of the corner of my eye but she continues on anyway. “Peeta, you should help her plant them again. Especially since you let them die-“

But I’ve heard enough from her—and everyone else here, for that matter—and I turn to Peeta, my hand still holding the doorknob tightly, ready to slam it shut. “Fine,” I cave, my tone anything but grateful. “Go ahead and replant the primroses. If that’s going to help you, then go for it.”

I don’t wait to hear a response from any of the parties now camped out on my property. Instead I shove Peeta’s fingers off my door—first time I’ve touched him in eight days—and throw it shut with such a force I feel the walls in my entryway shake.

“She’s always been a spitfire,” I hear Haymitch mumble as three sets of footsteps make their way further from my porch.

I barely catch Peeta’s response. If I hadn’t been standing by the door, unintentionally listening to hear what they may be saying, I would have missed it altogether.

“That’s the best thing about her.”

/

It’s just mere hours later before I’m disturbed once again. This time not by a crew of three but by one solo intruder.

“Sweetheart?” Haymitch barks, evidently not too keen on the fact that I decided to turn every light in my house off after returning home from the Hob.

“Go away,” I mumble out, knowing well and clear that he can’t hear me from upstairs. I’m in my bedroom, lying in the safety of my own bed, in my own private sanctuary, where I do not wish to be disturbed by anyone at any cost.

Of course, it only takes a few minutes of bumping into things and cursing for Haymitch to track me down. “Girl, it’s six at night?” He says incredulously.

“So?” I snap, as he turns my light on, effectively blinding me.

“Did you just forget about dinner tonight?” He asks, his voice neither kind nor hostile. In all honesty, he just sounds puzzled.

“Why are you in my room, Haymitch?” I murmur, rubbing my eyes until they adjust to the beaming brightness and pulling myself upwards now. Off his dismissive glance, I let out a deep sigh. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Of course, we’re not really talking about me skipping a meal. I highly doubt Haymitch truly cares if I miss dinner by my own accord. He surely wasn’t too interested in my meal intake when he brought me home from the Capitol and dropped me off on my doorstep.

No, we’re referring to the weekly dinners me, Peeta and Haymitch have at the old man’s pig sty. The same dinners I’ve brought Delly along to, that Haymitch is constantly passing out drunk during, that Bailey has been crashing nonstop since arriving here in Twelve.

When I came home from trading at the Hob tonight, I decided I was done with those dinners. I don’t need to subject myself to bossy Bailey any longer, and my resolve to keep Peeta out of my life as much as humanly possible is still strong. Despite the fact that I agreed to let him plant the primroses in my garden again and tend to their growth, I still don’t wish for us to be friends. I still don’t want to subject myself any further to him and Bailey’s exhibits.

And I figured no one would mind my absence anyways. At least not for a few dinners. I knew eventually Haymitch would try to push me to come back and Peeta would probably ask me very sweetly to join again, but I didn’t think the first night I skipped would be a huge production.

And okay, maybe there is a small part of me who deep down hopes if I refuse to come, Bailey may be disinvited in order to make me feel welcome again. It’s a long shot and not one I’d consciously admit to counting on, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a small, minuscule part of me wishing for that to happen just the same.

Haymitch glances at me suspiciously now. “You’re always hungry, kid.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re the most enthusiastic eater I know.”

Okay, he is blatantly confused apparently. His drunken goggles are blurring his perspective of reality, it would seem.

In any case, I flop backwards on my bed and roll away, hoping if I ignore my mentor long enough he’ll just evaporate into thin air.

But for some reason, Haymitch is weirdly dogged tonight. “Come on,” he urges, shaking my shoulder a bit too roughly. “I know the boy always says you’re just like me, but this little display is over the top, Katniss.”

I roll my eyes. “Why do you even want me at those dinners, Haymitch? You have Peeta and Bailey there.” I can’t stop myself from throwing the extra emphasis on Bailey, as immature as it may be.

However, the old man isn’t interested in dignifying me with a response. “And Delly. And Johanna. And Annie Cresta.”

That catches me completely off-guard. “What?”

In the time since the war ended and I returned to Twelve—or rather, was exiled to Twelve—no one from the other districts have visited. I have barely seen anyone I know in the last few months, outside Haymitch, Peeta and Delly.

“Some of which are anxious to see you at dinner,” he adds, gesturing for me to get up.

I shoot him a mordant glance. “Johanna’s anxious to see me?”

“I said some. Meaning Delly and Annie,” he clarifies. Off my still hesitant expression, he reaches down and tugs on my wrist, trying to get me out of bed.

“Fine!” I exclaim, feeling strangely embarrassed now as I realize that our roles are suddenly being reversed. I’m the one who always forced him out of bed, who made him come to meals, who fought with him to hurry up and get moving.

In the end, I don’t bother cleaning myself up or trying to appear presentable. Johanna and Annie won’t care and Peeta doesn’t get to care anymore.

And it wouldn’t matter anyway. Even if Effie Trinket or my entire prep team were here, I’d never stand a chance of looking anything but plain next to Bailey.

It’s not that I care that she’s so blatantly pretty. It’s just that her looks are one more thing about her presence to be bothered by, and that list is getting long and extensive. Even after her apparent approval of Peeta gardening my primroses, even after no negative interactions in eight days, I still sense hostility with her. And I still can’t stare at her without feeling my stomach churn.

Because every time she’s around, I know I’m about to be the odd one out. For whatever reason, outside of Delly, the people I care for, hold a deep affinity for Bailey Robyn.

And it bothers me above anything I can express. It bothers me beyond words, beyond measure, beyond any sense of feeling.

“Look who I found,” Haymitch announces as we enter through the threshold of his filthy residence.

“Katniss!” Annie exclaims and tosses her arms around my neck, despite the fact that we’ve never been too close. I can’t even remember the last time we had a conversation in person. The only true communication between me and Annie is the letters she sends, the ones filled with details of her life in Four and Finnick’s son. The ones I rarely respond to, but always read just the same.

Still, despite the fact that Annie might as well be a glorified stranger to me, I return the embrace, instinctively at first and then, simply because I want to. Because no one besides Peeta has given me any sort of affection in months and I miss it. Now that Peeta has put conditions on our relationship, I am hungry for any physical touch at all.

It shocks me to realize, in that moment, just how completely starved I am, for closeness.

I hug Annie for far longer than I think anyone watching anticipated but she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seems to welcome it too.

Then again, her husband died and left her with seemingly no family at all to help raise their baby. So perhaps she’s just as desperate for a human touch—I suppose besides her son—as I am.

I don’t receive the same welcome from Johanna, unsurprisingly, but as soon as me and Annie break apart, she shoots me a satirical glance and pulls on a piece of my hair.

“Ow!” I exclaim, my thick brows furrowing in confusion. “What was that for?”

“It was sticking up,” she explains with a shrug and then smirks. “Did you just roll out of bed and come here?”

“Did you?” Her outfit is just denim pants and a low cut t-shirt. Not that different from my attire.

“Yes. And I’m not ashamed of it.” She runs a hand over her hair which has grown out to about length with her shoulders. “But I know how to use a hairbrush, at least.”

I roll my eyes as she nudges me. “This is dinner,” Haymitch deadpans as he makes his way to the table. “Not a Capitol Beauty Contest.”

Jo examines the unwashed table as we follow the grumpy man’s lead. As of right now, the table is completely void of substance. “Doesn’t dinner imply food?” She asks and Annie laughs lightly, suggesting she was thinking along the same lines.

“Haymitch doesn’t believe in cooking himself,” I retort, earning a look from the old man. “He’s waiting for Peeta to arrive with food.”

“You’re more than welcome to provide the meal, sweetheart.”

“And what are you providing?”

“The residence the meal is served at.”

“And what a residence it is!” Exclaims a completely different voice, a higher pitched soprano.

And like clockwork, three blonde heads round the corner of the dining room, abruptly joining the party.

Delly looks as enthusiastic to be walking with Peeta and Bailey as I am to be in their company right now. Which she further evidences by hurrying to the seat at my right.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a grin,” Haymitch remarks as he pulls out a bottle of white liquor and pours it into a half-clean glass.

“Wonder why that is,” I murmur out loud before thinking better of it. After all, Haymitch seems to care for Bailey more than me nowadays. I should probably not stir the pot before the food is even presented before me.

But he doesn’t reply back. Even if he did, I doubt I’d notice anyway.

Because, in the flash of a second, the attention of the room is completely shifted.

I knew Bailey was coming with Peeta. She’s practically glued to his hip at all times of day, almost as if she’s afraid to let him out of her sight. But it would seem that Haymitch did not inform Johanna or Annie about Peeta’s new relationship, effectively catching them both by surprise at the additional dinner guest.

And there’s little room for doubt to anyone with eyes that they’re together. Their hands are practically singed as one, in an airtight grasp, her manicured nails intertwined with his long fingers.

For a split second I wonder if that’s what my hand looked like inside Peeta’s last week. I wonder if this is what Bailey saw before her, when she caught us roaming through town at the crack of dawn.

“Barley?” Johanna says in a shocked voice.

It takes a moment for her comment to compute in my brain. “Bailey,” I correct, trying to be helpful. Though I’m unsure where she even managed to get the name Barley at all. Especially if Haymitch didn’t warn her about the girl Peeta was bringing and I strongly suspect he didn’t.

Jo looks at me like I’m insane for the amendment before turning back to Bailey and Peeta. “You’re dating Bailey Barley?” She say incredulously.

Bailey Barley? Is that a nickname? Now I’m the one who’s completely lost at sea, feeling like there was a good chunk of time I somehow missed.

Bailey’s blue eyes stare into Jo’s now, not exactly friendly but not as belligerent as I’ve seen her before. As I saw her last week.

I don’t know nor do I understand what they’re silently communicating, but I do comprehend one thing without a doubt.

Johanna knows Bailey. Somehow, someway, Johanna knows Bailey even more than I do.

Peeta doesn’t seem too confused though. He doesn’t even seem fazed by the exchange at all. Instead he drops Bailey’s hand—not soon enough, in my opinion—and moves to set some kind of meat and potato meal down on the table.

“Where did you get the meat?” I ask abruptly, recognizing it as deer. I just shot my first in a long time only the other day. How on Earth did Peeta get deer meat around the same time I did.

“I traded a cake for it. At the Hob,” he explains nonchalantly, avoiding my bewildered eyes now.

I just stare at him for a second, debating on even further commenting.

The Hob is where I traded the deer after killing it. Peeta literally baked a cake and traded it for meat, just because I wouldn’t speak to him.

He literally traded a cake so I could eat the meat that I hunted myself.

Something about that scenario vindicates me slightly. And I have to wonder if I’ve become sadistic with time and solitude.

My attention though is pulled back to Johanna and Bailey now. “What’re you doing in Twelve?”

Bailey takes her seat, between Haymitch and Peeta, with grace. “Peeta and I met in the Capitol,” she states simply. “I decided to come here and spend some more time with him. Get to know him a little better.”

As if to punctuate her words, she places one dainty hand on top of Peeta’s and gives it a squeeze.

I can’t even fight my eye roll.

“I see,” Jo murmurs, casting a sideway glance at me, none too subtle. “Well, it looks like you did... that.”

Delly snickers into her water glass and I don’t miss the way Bailey shoots her an irritated glance. Peeta seemingly does though. Haymitch is already too tipsy to care if an actual fight breaks out among us, his white liquor kicking in quick.

Annie on the other hand, who I’ve always believed to often be oblivious to all those around her, decidedly cuts the tension here. “Well, I’m hungry. Peeta, pass me a plate.”

And just like that, we’re having one of the most awkward meals I’ve ever had to endure.

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[felikatze]

Just wanted to say thank you so much for all the brainworms you have been giving me and my friends for the past few hours about Ayin and all the analyses you've been doing about him.

I have been losing my mind in the middle of the night thinking about all the things you've said, turning it over like crazy and trying to compare it with the gameplay I've had of Lobotomy Corporation and Library of Ruina.

Please do more analysis and share more of your ideas! Please? Please, with cherry on top? Please, I beg of you?

Especially if you have in-depth ideas of analyses for the Sephirah and how it relates to both their own characters and Ayin and Angela.

I thank you greatly in advance!

the implication that i've infected an entire friend group with my brainworms is power that will 100% go to my head i feel amazing. what else is analysis posting except trying to inflict people with the same thoughts bouncing around your skull on repeat

i DO have shit on the sephirah but mostly netzach, because i love netzach, and i in fact found my discord ramble about him (and chesed)

i dont have things on how they relate to A and Angela specifically because I mainly kept thinking abt Reverbaration Ensemble parallels... i have so many thoughs abt Netzach and Bremen.

(but if you want me to talk about, say, a specific core supression, or floor realization... i have a lot of thoughts on floor realizations.)

First off I am so sorry that you seem to think I'm smart because that means i have the perfect opportunity to inflict you with this

okay now we can get to the serious stuff

[transcript:

containment breach:

quick ramble abt lor again but i love the ensemble receptions so much. i'm at chesed's rn, and i know he's been chill the entire game, but him just refusing to comment on jae-hoon's tragedy seems, out of context, a dick move, but also is so important for chesed to do? he recognizes that another's suffering is not related to him, that he can't do anything about it, and that this is fine. The closest i'd describe chesed in lobcorp would be "activist burnout." Due to betraying the lab from garion's pressure, chesed was so consumed by guilt, he just blamed himself for everything and became more callous because it's already his fault, right? There's nothing he can do. But in lor, he knows what his responsibilities are, and allows himself joy where he can find it. I love the ensemble receptions bcuz they are just examplary of each patron libriarian's growth and i iqbfjc (sobs)

GOD this sure is a paragraph

also have to salute netzach for carrying his scene all by himself as the musicians of bremen just (animal noises) :pray:

ykno being online i realize that i'm not quiet at all i am a complete and utter chatterbox /end]

[transcript:

containment breach:

thinking abt netzach's scene where he doesn't talk to bremen, because he can't, but recognizes this who has not only lost themself in their own art but also their own suffering

i just i love netzach so much his entire character arc is abt learning to live with depression and learning to want to live again

so he becomes unable to understand, really, why someone would sacrifice themselves for their own art

when he started out just, similar yet different from bremen, completely submerged in his own misery

musicians of bremen reminds me i still have bremen bon bons at home i should eat those. they r tasty /end]

i wanna specifically dig into this scene more because i love that scene, a lot.

Art as we get to know it in the City is irrevocably tied to violence. Puppets are made of human bodies, music is played on bones and sinews. To the artists of the City, to create art is to make someone suffer. Rewatching Netzach's story bits, Roland describes it as doing nothing but seeking stimulation and being provocative.

Furthermore, there is a direct comparison between art and alcohol. To paraphrase more, the Pianist must've been one hell of a stimulant, like getting hit by a strong booze. A performance some are still hungover from.

Netzach's main struggle was addiction because of depression, and his growing appreciation for art is a continuation of that arc. He says himself that art and alcohol are linked.

However, alcohol is a step down from hard drugs. Netzach hasn't quit, but just that step down shows he learned moderation, which makes me very proud of him.

Moderation is what the other.. let's just call them artists, lack. I said in the screencaps above, initially, Netzach was lost in his own suffering, and the musicians of bremen are lost in their art. And if art is seen as equal to suffering, that just means Netzach and Bremen are more similar than expected. (Especially considering what we see of the musicians previously; they’re always trying to chase the same high they experienced listening to the Pianist by any means necessary. The addiction parallels are not suprising.)

I rewatched most of Netzach's lor scenes, and what rlly gets me is that in his first one, he seems almost the exact same as in lobcorp. He doesn't want to work, he got dragged into this against his will, he feels as if his accomplishments are futile.

But! He eventually invites Roland for drinks. He's not drinking to forget alone anymore, he's doing it as social activity. Furthermore, the more time he spends as Patron Librarian of Arts, the more he grows to appreciate art. Art is tied to suffering, still, but it is an expression of suffering. It does not produce any. Or should not, in any case. He sure wishes it wouldn’t.

So we arrive at his Ensemble Reception. This one makes a rather interesting comparison: art as the pursuit of the light. Let me elaborate.

To quote, “Honestly, I wanna tell people to stop doing the kind of art that requires ‘em to immolate themselves and others. Although, on the other hand... I can kinda see where they’re coming from. Art narrows your vision, after all.

You stop caring about the things around you. That’s how most artists seem to act, I think. And so, you indulge in the craft, not realizing that you’re throwing yourself and your surroundings into the fire you started.”

I pose this: Netzach speaks of his experience as Giovanni. Giovanni was a researcher who, when push came to shove, willingly sacrificed himself to advance the project, in hopes of seeing the light, seeing Carmen, again.

Though he dislikes Bremen’s actions, he does not judge them for it, because he recognized that it would be hypocritical. Even so, what shows that he’s grown is that he.. doesn’t want to see people harm themselves anymore. The focus here isn’t if Bremen hurt other people, which they have, but how much of themselves they’ve given up for their performance. He condemns the act, and not the people.

“If I can see that light once more... If I have to muster up the courage to reach it, I’ll gladly do it. It’s easier said than done, though; you need a lot of fearlessness for it.

And I guess you saw the same kind of light I was so desperate to see, yeah? Even if yours was a twisted creature... [...] Though, I don’t think I can tell you off like the others. At least I can see the reason behind it.”

He even explicitly mentions the light. The funny thing is, both Giovanni and Bremen tried to reach the Seed of Light, and Carmen. It’s tragically hilarious that we know Carmen is the voice the Distortions hear.

Hell, the more I think about it, the more you can just compare the Ensemble as a whole to the Outskirts Lab crew, down to Angelica’s puppet body and Carmen’s desecrated corpse.

“And I know pretty well that we have no right to devilishly pick apart each other’s way of art. I’m not very proud of mine, really...”

Netzach just.. gets it. I can’t remember atm, but I don’t think the other Patron Librarians really draw parallels like that. I’m seeing all the parallels now and I can’t unsee them ever. Bro.

His “art,” his way of protecting the light, is still violent. But he sees that perhaps it didn’t have to be, or rather shouldn’t be. I fucking love Netzach so much. His arc just means a lot to me personally, and I’d wager a lot of people who’ve struggled with mental illness would agree.

I’m not gonna get into Netzach’s floor realization here because this post is already long enough, but like, look at the specific flashback of Angela shown in Netzach’s story bits and contrast it to his arc of learning to want to live, and. Yeah.

[carol-effing-danvers]

Steve Rogers is a Monster

Yeah, that’s a hell of a title, isn’t it? Strap in, it only gets worse from here. 

(click here if you’d prefer to read this on AO3)

Forewarning, if you enjoyed the epilogue for Endgame, this particular essay is not for you - and no, I am not bashing the Steve/Peggy shippers, you are beautiful human beings who make the fandom brighter and I’m happy that at least someone in this fandom got the ending they wanted.

Additional warning: if you expect this to be another Civil War debate, you will also be disappointed. There has never been a measurement invented that can adequately describe how much I loathe the verbal dick measuring contest that seems to pass for human interaction between Tony Stark and Steve Rogers in this franchise. It’s not funny or entertaining - it’s exhausting, uncomfortable, and frankly it’s rather lazy writing.

This is about the very specific way that the epilogue in Endgame completely changed the way the character of Steve Rogers can be interpreted, and I don’t just mean the very illogical and contradictory way that time travel is explained, both in the movie itself and the fact that the writers and directors have two completely different views on how that worked out. 

I mean that the choice made by Steve Rogers in the very last minutes of that movie alters the way I view each and every one of his actions starting from The First Avenger and that alteration is exactly what I want to talk about, because whether you view it as deserving or not, what Steve does at the conclusion of Endgame was the most selfish thing humanly possible. Time is a thief, but somehow Steve managed to steal even more than Time.

Side note here: I understand that I am a completely biased Stucky shipper, a friend to Barnes and Noble, a Starbucks aficionado - sorry. Anyway, I’ve always believed that Steve and Bucky were destined blah blah blah, but I was never expecting a Stucky ending. Disney wasn’t going to do that, and I knew that, I wasn’t bothered that Steve and Bucky weren’t doing the smoochies by the end. But Bucky’s facial expression during those last minutes was gut-wrenching. Like...I have no idea what kind of cues the script and directors gave him, but in the future, please don’t ask Sebastian Stan to look sad unless you want soul-crushing devastation. It’s not Seb’s fault, his features are just arranged that way - but the fact that the editing staff allowed Sam to be sad though elated to be entrusted with the Shield and Bucky looked like his soul was being physically torn out of his body was an… interesting choice. 

Other side note: if you’re writing about time travel, I’m begging y’all to get your facts straight. Or just don’t write about time travel. It almost always sounds better on paper than it does on screen and it means that you’ve opened doors to more questions than you’ve probably got the answers for. I know this was about trying to set up the idea of the multiverse, I get that, but there were better and less messy ways to do that, and I know that because I’ve done it before. @Marvel: Let me write you a six-way orgy you fucking cowards~

By going back in time, Steve robbed Peggy of the future that would have been hers - not only that, he’s robbed her of even the chance of making the choice between those futures, because you honestly could not tell me with a straight face that Steve told her the complete truth of what he had done and she would be okay with him alternating the very course of the future. It doesn’t help his case that he has a history of not disclosing truths that he knows will be painful or inconvenient for other people in his life.

He robbed his loved ones - Sam, Bucky, Wanda - of the years they would have spent with him. Sure, he ‘came back’ after Peggy passed away, but they are adults in the prime of youth who knew him sixty years ago in his own time and he is an old, old man who has lived an entire life completely separated from them. He is practically a stranger with a name they know, but a history that no longer belongs to any of them - not even his oldest friend. They have him back, but judging from his age, they’ll be lucky to get even ten more years with him. Assuming of course, that any of them can stand to speak to him - I certainly couldn’t blame them if they tell him to go to hell and take his dad jokes with him. 

Steve has stolen away their friend and dropped off an elderly and dying near-stranger in his place, and this is treated by the writing (and the majority of the acting) as a wild and unexpected but not tragic event. 

Is it really that unexpected, though?

I recall seeing a Game of Thrones essay on Daenerys across my dash (I’m sorry, love, I don’t recall who you are since it’s not a fandom I’m in, but if someone knows who wrote that, please post the link!) which detailed how her ending in the series was foreshadowed many times by her penchant for bloody killings and her habit of surrounding herself with her own fawning friends.

Months after reading that, I had the thought: though Steve is never really shown thinking about Peggy after Civil War, except in a few scattered scenes in Endgame, was this foreshadowed? Whether you believe that his actions are justified or not, what Steve does is still, in the end, selfish at its very heart, and Steve Rogers is not a selfish person. 

Oh no, my dear friends and readers. Because taking this action has solidified and clarified Steve Rogers as the biggest and most selfish asshole in this whole universe.

Steve does not do the right thing, Steve does the thing that will most make him feel better. The fact that this often happens to be the right thing in the end is more the result of happy coincidence than any special sort of moral authority that the man holds. 

Rescuing Bucky Barnes and his fellow captives in a prisoner of war camp from being experimented on by an insane Nazi eugenicist? That was not a moral stand, that was endangering himself, Peggy Carter, and Howard Stark because he couldn’t handle the reality of his best friend being killed in war.

Sacrificing himself by putting the Valkyrie down in the Arctic Circle? That was not about sparing human lives, that was about Steve seeing his friend die right in front of him and not being able to deal with the grief. There were ways he could’ve prevented the plane from killing people without killing himself.

Trying to make Bucky remember who he was? And later on, saving him from the government agencies who wanted to hunt him down? Although, arguably, that last one is also just good common sense - Steve was already shown that government agencies could and were corrupted by HYDRA and he’d also seen how dangerous the Winter Soldier could be when unleashed. 

Steve did, I think, truly believe that this was the right thing to do, but it was also about keeping his connection - his very last, since Peggy had descended into dementia caused by Alzheimer’s before she ultimately died - to a past that for him, was only months or years ago, rather than decades. In some ways, this is completely understandable - Bucky might be the very last person left alive who truly knows who the real Steve Rogers is, because the rest of these people only know Captain America and we are consistently shown through multiple movies how uncomfortable this makes him.

This gets...considerably less and less understandable as we are shown Steve’s growing relationships with Natasha, Sam, Wanda - even Sharon, though she barely gets any screen time and they share the most awkward kiss I’ve ever seen - and indeed, what might be the most uncomfortable kiss in cinema history.

Side Note 3: This is made even more awkward by the director’s choice to have two of Steve’s friends watching them the whole time - seriously, who even does that? Why would you make them do that? Only sociopaths make out with their friends staring at them like that. It’s so fucking creepy - and don’t even get me fucking started on the fact that she’s also apparently his own niece. AHHHHH!

But we are shown, over and over again, that Steve is capable of building close meaningful relationships with people in the present. They don’t know his whole history, but they do know Steve Rogers rather than Captain America and they care about him deeply. 

Side Note 4: Notice that I don’t count Tony Stark among those people - despite this strangely persistent narrative that the various writers and directors tried to sell to the audience, Tony and Steve were not friends. They were never friends. They were colleagues at best, but these were two men who neither liked nor understood each other very well, but had to work together. And sometimes that’s okay, too. (Oh dear, I just gave the Stony fans a fit too, didn’t I? Sorry, guys. Enemies to Lovers is a great trope, I support you!)

But let’s set aside Steve’s gross betrayal of the people who loved him. We’ll also ignore the question of whether the motive for these good actions has tainted the actions themselves. Because even without questioning these, the conclusion of this story arc still transforms Steve into the biggest monster this franchise has. 

The very fundamental way that the writers and directors can’t agree on how the time travel mechanics in their own story work mean that Steve has just done one of two things and they range from shady and very questionable to absolutely fucking horrific. 

The first, that he’s created his own alternate universe to exist in, is morally dubious at best. Even the people who support this theory and liked the ending seem to feel that it wasn’t necessarily a ten out of ten on the moral goodness spectrum. They’ll say things like ‘he deserved to have his happy ending’. Even that phrasing seems to acknowledge that doing this was the opposite of the right thing. It just considers doing the wrong thing as being justified rather than horrifying. 

But let’s examine this first idea for a minute - even this, the more innocent of the two implications, means that rather than really processing his grief or dealing with the repeated tragedies and losses that have occured in his life, even as he was running group therapy sessions and grief counseling, Steve Rogers chose to escape his current life by creating an alternate universe that specifically allows he himself to live out his own fucking fantasies of the way his life should have turned out. 

That, in case you are not aware, is wildly fucked up. I thought I was playing pretty fast and loose with Steve’s characterization when I turned him into an extremely polite serial killer but as it turns out, I clearly just wasn’t setting the bar high enough, because that’s somehow even more fucked up than being an undercover child soldier with a small sadistic streak. 

Hm, and now I feel I should have been more creative there...

The second, and even more horrifying option, is that this older Steve Rogers has been in this world the whole time, watching as things unfolded just as we’ve seen over the past decade, taking ‘the slow way’ through time. 

Side Note 5: I do kind of understand why you would do it this way, because that’s really cool and shocking when you say that! Until you think about it for longer than three seconds and suddenly you realize…

Everything that has happened here, every tragedy and downfall these people experienced, happened because Steve Rogers lived his happily ever after with his beautiful wife and did absolutely nothing to stop it. He got to fuck Peggy Carter and watched as his wife built an empire of intelligence networks, knowing that her efforts were completely in vain because her agency was rotten to the core and he never told her.

Every horrifying act committed by HYDRA under the guise of SHIELD was permitted through Steve Rogers’ negligence. And that’s just the wider big-picture worldview, large and shocking, but not personal. 

What about the people that Steve claims to actually care about? 

This means that Steve lived his whole life in contentment with his wife and children while his best friend was physically and psychologically tortured for over seventy years and just...let that go. 

He allowed one friend to murder another in the nineties, when the Winter Soldier was sent after Howard and Maria Stark. Then their child was being advised by a greedy self-interested warmonger who paid terrorists to drag him off to be tortured and slaughtered, and Steve did nothing about that, either. 

Bruce Banner was exploited, experimented on, and made into a monster against his will in the failed pursuit of recreating what was done to Steve, resulting in billions of dollars in damage and dozens or even hundreds of lives lost, and Steve allowed that to happen, too. 

Like Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanov was physically and psychologically tortured for others to use her as a living weapon - except that this was probably happening to her since early childhood, and a man her future self loved and trusted implicitly did nothing to save her from this upbringing. 

The Maximoff twins are shown to have not wealthy but loving parents who are murdered in front of them and they both endure days of laying in the rubble of their ruined apartment, wondering if the bomb in their living room would go off and kill them. Later, they are taken in by HYDRA, experimented on, and recruited as child soldiers to the cause when they show signs of having supernatural powers. They start a series of events that result in the destruction of a major city and the loss of what is probably thousands of lives. Pietro is murdered while trying to help the Avengers to stop this, and Wanda suffers the loss of the very last living person she loved. None of these things seem to have bothered Future Steve. 

Steve “I can’t sit on the sidelines when I see a situation go sideways” Rogers, planted himself on that fucking sideline and observed for nearly eighty years as friends, colleagues, and his own wife were lied to, brainwashed, tortured, vilified, and hunted down like animals.

And then there Steve Rogers himself - not the Endgame Steve Rogers, the Steve Rogers who brought down a Nazi plane and will lie beneath the ice for seventy years while everything he knows disappear (mostly) innocent of these horrors, the life he would’ve lived stolen from him by a stranger with his name and his face from another universe.

What I’m saying here is that if you consider this idea for any amount of time, it took Steve Rogers less than ten minutes to become the most evil and disturbing figure in the entire MCU, only (not really tho) contested by Thanos himself. 

Gross and poorly reasoned libertarian ethics aside, Thanos genuinely believes that he did what he did for the sake of the entire population. It’s made fairly explicitly clear that Steve didn’t do this for anyone but himself. 

Call me crazy, but if everyone you know needs to suffer and multiple planet-wide devestations have to happen in order for you to get your happy ending, you might be the bad guy. 

Maybe I’m just old-fashioned?

[shadowturtlesstuff]

Dress

reputation-cressworth

so the song dress by taylor swift screams cressworth to be, the sort of mutual pining and honest love they have for each other. so i wrote a semi canon but not at all canon peice. (4k words)

                                              ><><><><><><

The night was lasting forever, time dragged on as people danced and drank and celebrated, despite there still being a murderer roaming the streets and slaughtering innocent women. They acted like they could never be injured by the killer just because of their class, when for all anyone knew the killer was in this room right now plotting. I hoped they started with me, just so I didn't have to experience this torture any longer; although it was highly unlikely seeing as they focused on lower class women. A pity, really, I could think of many who deserve it more. I could think of only one one person in this room that perhaps didn't deserve to suffer the fate three women already have. 

Audrey Rose Wadsworth.

Perhaps my only friend in this god-forsaken world. One that I cannot even spend time with, as one would like. It's an absurd notion but one that I can't ignore otherwise I've no job and I don't think Jonathan Wadsworth would take me on knowing I’m currently working for his rival, even if I quit myself and I did everything in my power to show off my exceptional talents and gain his trust. Especially if he finds out I'm madly in love with his niece; and have been for awhile. I must admit it was never my intention to do so, or to even be her friend, but when you are trying to solve the same crimes you tend to run into each. Often. And so overtime we became friends, begrudgingly on her part. Then, when we faced danger a few weeks back, and I thought I'd lose her over my actions and Oliver's inability to tell me the truth, we kissed. Since then we have been trying to navigate our feelings whilst also pretending to not know each other. It is incredibly difficult not to walk over to her now, take her hands and offer a dance. To then kiss her and watch her cheeks redden and her to smile at me. To know I made her smile. Each smile melts the coldness of my heart that I've spent years creating to protect myself. I believed I needn't ever need a friend nor wife. Yet, perhaps, someday Audrey could be both of those and we wouldn't need to freeze our hearts to protect ourselves.

 All night I've been trying to catch her gaze but her eyes refuse to meet mine, at least with my knowledge that is. I caught her staring when she believed I was otherwise engaged in something so that I wouldn't notice. I notice every time. It's been a fun game, the only good thing about this evening. It is someone's birthday, someone my father deems important enough to drag me along too. Even though he hates me, and I him. Even though I have no intention of finding a wife this way or taking over his business. Audrey Rose was an unexpected gift, at this party and my life. I hadn't realised she'd be here with her family but I should have assumed. Or asked, but we had only seen each other once since the kiss and most of that time was spent discussing corpses and the no longer occasional flirting. She is remarkably good at getting under my skin, at leaving me without words and making me want to just hold her in my arms for both our sakes. Her uncle and my boss would be furious if they found out we'd been sharing theories, but unlike my boss I want to solve the case to get a murderer off the streets and not the fame; Audrey Rose is utterly horrified by the grotesk way women are being violated. So the more we work together the faster we can solve it for good. 

‘You think they know more than us?’ I hear vaguely, I pull my eyes away from Audrey Rose and grimace. Mr. Douglas caught me staring but assumed it was over Jonathan Wadsworth and about the murders. 

“There's a high chance sir.” Mainly due to the man's ignorance and my inability to share my ideas with him. He takes a seat next to me so I sit straighter and force myself not to look at Audrey Rose. “I've heard the girl, what's her name?”

“Audrey Rose Wadsworth, sir.” I tell him as plainly as possible.

“Right, sure. I've heard she's helping him. I've no idea why such a pretty thing would waste her life pretending to be a detective but-”

“What?” I was going to strangle him. His complete and utter ineptitude towards Audrey Rose, to how women truly were versus what they are perceived as in society was astonishing. I would truly strangle him if I wasn't as shocked. And if I didn't have to hide my feelings for her. 

“I know I was baffled when I heard it too, she'll make herself unavailable if she keeps the way she's going.” he doesn't take his eyes off her as if he wanted to be the one to make her unavailable and not science. Even though that notion was outrageous. I rolled my eyes at him as a brilliant idea struck. 

“Hear me out, sir, what if I pursue her? I mean if she is one for science she will know about the case and I doubt she knows me so I can easily charm her and I can get whatever information I can to help us solve the case faster.” I try to explain my plan in a non desperate way. Hopefully he will think I believe Audrey Rose is incapable of figuring out deceit and that she'll just spill her guts to me; that I don't care about the case. When, in reality, I just want one dance with her. I'm exasperated in hiding my feelings and it's only been a few weeks. Maybe it would be a lot easier to try and beg for an apprenticeship with Jonathan Wadsworth than deal with this misogynistic self centered-

“Not a half bad idea. For once you have got a decent plan. Although maybe I should be the one to charm her, seen as your, well, you have as much charm as a brick wall to put it simply. So let me-”

“I'm more than capable.” I say and get out of my chair and start striding towards her before he can get there first. If he even opened his mouth to her she would berate him so heavily that he would have to hibernate until people forget. Not that Audrey Rose is forgettable in any way.  Maybe I should've let him try first just to see that. Alas, I need to at least have a conversation with her. I made my way to her table, her father and brother were conversing and her uncle looked about as miserable and irritated as I did. Audrey Rose just looked bored. 

She looks beautiful though, her pale green and blue dress offsets her darker features and highlights her dazzling eyes. The light reflects off her perfectly, showing her sharp features and illuminating her mothers necklace at her chest. When I finally reach her table her eyes find mine and red begins to line her cheeks and her brows furrow at the sight of me. I notice slightly her father and brother cease to be as they look at me as well. 

“May I borrow your daughter for a dance, sir?” I asked him. He looks confused but I'm sure he realized who I am. Who my father is. I'm sure his mind is filled with implications about what the title could do for him if we were to be wed. 

“Cert-”

“No.” her uncle interjects. Her father looks furious, brother amused and her aunt; I hadn't even noticed her aunt was there with I assume her cousin. 

“What do you mean no? She's my daughter I suggest you-”

“No. Mr. Cresswell, what are you doing? You do not wish to seek out my niece for the case do you? If so, leave now.”

I blink at the tone. Of course he'd see through it; however he is technically wrong. 

“No sir, I can see why you'd think that but I truly wish to dance. Your daughter is captivating.” I would rather seek the end of the killer's knife than continue this conversation. 

“I shall dance with you Mr. Cresswell.” Audrey Rose seems inclined to inflict the same fate as me. Without listening to the rest of her family she walks towards the dance floor so I follow her. She hesitantly puts her arms on my shoulders and I put my own on her waist. I feel lighter than I have all evening; as though I've had many drinks of champagne and Mrs Harvey's tonic. I give her a genuine smile and feel her own tension release. 

“I'm glad you saved me. I've been dreadfully bored.” She greets me in such an improper and Audrey Rose way that I laugh.

“I'll always be the one to save you Wadsworth. I am your Dark Prince. Be sure to think about me and my heroic nature whenever you're alone.” 

“Please.” She begins as we start to sway, “I have more important things to consider than you.” She tries to be serious but it is not her strongest ability when talking to me. 

“You look beautiful, Audrey Rose.” She rolls her eyes at me despite her blush. “The dress is magnificent, compliments you perfectly, although completely unnecessary, I'm sure you are perfectly capable of rendering me speechless without a dress on at all.”

Her eyes widen at such scandalous words and her cheeks redden even more but her eyes dazzle with the promise of mischief. “You claim I render you speechless yet you still speak? Are you lying or just horribly bad at compliments? Or, you hate the dress but need to charm me nonetheless?”

“Wadsworth, darling, please, do you really think that little of me? I'm merely stating the obvious, it's what I do best. And I don't need to charm you when you are already infatuated with me. If I were you I would be. And as much as you truly render me speechless with your brilliant mind, I adore your body too, an added bonus, but I will always be able to tell you how astonishing you look.”

She focuses on my face, searching for something, perhaps a lie but she finds none and smiles at me, the sweetest little smile, and I debate placing a chaste kiss to her smiling red lips to also show her how honest I am right now but know that I cannot. Not yet. So I pinch her waist slightly and she lets out a tiny squeak and pinches me back. 

“It is a good job you are not me then isn't it?” She recovers perfectly and has the audacity to look smug at me. I press my hand to my chest and gawk at her. I'm losing the battle of wits, unsurprisingly, so I move the conversation along to try and turn it back in my favour.

“I've enjoyed the game tonight, our secret moments in this crowded room no one knows about. Each little glance at me gives my heart a rush. Makes it worth being at this blastidly boring event. I've missed you.”

We remain in comfortable silence, my last confessions washing over us both. 

“When does this get easier?” She whispers to me, her eyes finding mine, glassy as she contemplates what is running rampant in her mind. “I want to stay with you all night, but after this we must return to our lives, I go back to being judged for my curiosity and you will go back to the animatronic villain the world thinks you are. When does it get easier Thomas?” 

I keep us spinning, holding onto her waist and not ready to let her disappear. She's right. It's a horrible wait to be away from her and having to wear my armour everyday. It's even harder for her to try and have a career in science and not have someone by her side, completely by her side. There must be something we can do, I can do, to make our lives better. 

“Wadsworth, how much does your uncle hate me?” A plan begins to form in my head. One I've been debating for a while. Her eyes narrow knowing I have a plan but she must be so tired as she doesn’t bother asking what and says: 

“He doesn't hate you, at least I don’t think he does. He- he isn't a person who gives positive opinions on anyone. Even me. But no, I do not think he hates you, just Mr. Douglas. Oh but he doesn't like that you are working against us. For him no less.” 

“It's not ideal, I despise him, he doesn't care about the cases, but of the fame; it makes me near vomit whenever he speaks about the women- or any woman for that matter.”

She hums in agreement, her uncle must have told her all this. “Audrey Rose, if I were to quit would your uncle offer me an apprenticeship?”

“I think so but why?”

“There are more benefits in working with your uncle than that egotistical man. The main one being right in front of me.” The words leave my mouth before I consider the consequences. I feel her grip on my shoulders tighten slightly, her gaze fixed intently at my eyes, seeking something, and her body has stopped swaying to the music. I smile, hoping to convey the utmost truth in my words. She sees it and begins to sway again, looking away and trying to calm her heart. I attempt the same. 

“You could talk to my uncle tonight, I'm sure he'd much rather discuss the case or anything remotely close to work rather than listening to my aunt.”

“Would you want me to work alongside you Wadsworth because if not I can-”

Her head whips up to me and I cringe, I've said something wrong, I just assumed she wanted to see me. “Do not finish that sentence Thomas. Of course I want you to work with me and my uncle.” 

“My brilliance is desperately needed isn't it? I mean you cannot resist my charm.” I smile and her own graces her face and the mere sight of her happy because of me makes my heart want to burst. I'm almost certain it will. She quickly acts unimpressed and rolls her eyes at me.

“No, I'm merely the one saving you from that- that man before he rots the only decent part of your brain.” She smirks at me and it's my turn to roll my eyes. 

“If you are the one saving me, will you be like the heroes in the books, because I do recall that they always give their saved maidens a kiss once they are saved?” 

Her eyes widen and her cheeks turn a deep red as she hits my arm lightly. I take that as yes as I laugh at her. The song is ending, and we've already had two dances. I should take her back to her table, I should talk to her uncle. I should do anything but kiss her. But I want to. 

Thankfully she has more self control and leads us back to her table. I stand awkwardly until she rolls her eyes at me and pushes the chair next to her with her feet for me to sit. I scowl at her slightly before meeting the gazes of all the males in her life and I revisit my early thought to perhaps dance with the murderer instead. Her father orders one of the waiters to bring a glass of champagne but I'd rather smoke. Not that this is a place to do so. The silence drowns me as the glass is set in front of me. My hands find the base and I begin to mess with the glass. Now would not be the best time to bring up the case because Jonathan Wadsworth is glaring at me. His brother elbows him slightly and then looks at me with a plastered smile. Jonathan promptly leaves in search of food and I contemplate what would be worse. Trying to follow him or stay. I steal a glance at Audrey-Rose but she has a smile dancing on her face. 

“So Mr. Cresswell, my son has been telling me a bit about you, what is it you do again?” 

“I'm a scientist sir.” His face drops and I look at Audrey Rose. 

“Surely a man of your title would pursue something other than that?”

“Science isn't about titles sir, it's just the pursuit of knowledge. You must want to know how things work, how things are made. I enjoy learning about the body, the world and how it works.” He narrows his eyes slightly and I feel as though I'm on a tightrope; any wrong word and he will push me off. Mr. Wadsworth looks at his daughter for a second before returning his attention back to his son. Once again I steal a glance at Audrey Rose and hers in on her own glass. So her father dislikes her pursuit of science. So he dislikes me too. I try and hide my contemptment and so I tap the table trying to get her attention and she looks up at me and I give her a warm smile, just for her. Only ever for her. She returns the sentiment and all I want to do is envelop her in a hug and tell her it is okay to want to pursue science. 

We remain in silence, I wonder whether I should go back to my own table but I cannot seem to be able to. Jonathan Wadsworth returns, taking a seat beside me. He is silent for some time so I speak before I begin bouncing my leg up and down. 

“Would it be okay for me to attend your school sir?” I look at his face and it reveals nothing. 

“Yes,” I sigh in relief, perhaps if I show my abilities there he will offer me an apprenticeship. I hear Audrey Rose also sigh, but for a different reason. I assume she has had no luck in being able to attend, and all it took was me asking. “On one condition,” Jonathan interrupts my thoughts, “you must stop working for Mr. Douglas.” It's a fair condition, he cannot have someone learning his theories on the crime and have them report back to someone. I consider asking to allow Audrey Rose to join me as my own stipulation but don't want to push my luck. Yet. I will ask in the future.

“Of course.” Tomorrow I shall resign, then make sure I spend lunch with Audrey Rose and discuss helping her attend the school. Not that she needs help, but I'm sure just offering her my assistance and giving her the choice to use it will be beneficial to her.

I return back to my table, albeit very reluctantly, and give some information to Mr. Douglas. I choose to ignore the surprise on his face over the fact I have some, despite me having had it for over a week now. I choose to ignore the look he gives Audrey Rose too. That is until I follow his now frowning gaze to where she is storming out of the room. He goes to stand, as though he could ever help, so I wave a hand at him and casually walk out after her. I find her nearer the edge of the garden, hands running over her arms and tears threatening to spill. 

“Miss. Wadsworth, is everything okay?” Cautiously I stand just behind her, ready to leave her if she asks to be alone; but she lets out a joyless laugh and spins to look at me. 

“Perfect, Mr. Cresswell. I am a woman in this absurd society so I must not dare think about anything remotely masculine. I must not be able to pick who I love but have my father arrange it without informing me.” The words she spits at me bite worse than the cold seeping into my bones. 

“Audrey Ro-”

“Blackburn. He chose Blackburn. He was never nice to me to be my friend, but because of him and my fathers scheming. If he hadn't been he would not have been this nice to me. I know I am not exactly the nicest person and that my interests disgust society but it was nice to have a friend.” She whispers the last part as though it pains her too. It pains me to hear it.

“Am I not your friend Audrey Rose?” The attempt at a joke is abysmal and I curse in my head at how bad I am at interacting with people, especially those I love.

“You are but you're different, you, I don't need to try with you Thomas. I have to try with everyone but you.”  I dare a step towards her and her eyes meet mine. We needn't say a thing for us to understand each other. 

“Wadsworth, I find it easy with you too. More than I even understand. This world is cruel and I wish more than anything to make it better for you, for it to be better in general. I- my father long ago gave up trying to marry me off, deeming me worthless and unable to love, and I still cannot figure out which is worse.” My voice becomes hoarse as I take her gloved hand in mine. “You are worth more to society than they realise, so please keep fighting for your freedom. I will forever remain your friend if that is what you wish to happen, to help you figure this world out.” I'll be more than your friend if you wish that too. I fail to add. Her hand tightens on mine and I fail to breathe properly. 

“Thomas,” she breathes out, it caresses me slightly, her voice smooth and sure, “you are not unlovable, your father is a fool. An utter fool. I want you by my side always, I fear I couldn't do this without you.” Closer she comes, impossible so, and I fear I may have to think about anything menial so I do not kiss her and inevitably ruin this. “What if, what if it was more than friends though?” Her question is hesitant, and my heart stops dead. We may have kissed, may have flirted, but a part of me never considered she reciprocated my feelings. “I- I’m sorry.” She stammers, taking a step back, misjudging my silent shock. I wince and keep her hand in mine. Her own shock widens on her face and I speak before she can beat me to it. 

“Wadsworth I'd like that too.”

There is a second of silence as it sinks in. “You would?” 

“More than anything. I care deeply about you. I shall court you like a proper gentleman if that is what you wish” I return to how we stood seconds ago as she snorts at my statement. 

“You are anything but a gentleman Cresswell.” The smile returns on her face as we both laugh. “It may be my favourite thing about you.” I flash her a devilish smile. 

“I am fully aware, love, that you love the scandalousness of my words. Would you like to go back inside or return home, I am sure I can get us a carriage to share.”

“Us? Thomas you do not live with me.”

“Yet.” I add. She rolls her eyes but does not disagree. “It would be ungentlemanly to let you return home alone; and purly scandalous to be in close quarters with you.” I wink as she retreats from me to where the carriages are. 

“Very well, you may escort me home. From a distance.” She adds with narrowed eyes and I laugh at her implications but follow her nonetheless. I follow her into what seems like a new life, new hopes, ones I never thought possible. Her dress swishes around her, sweeping around her ankles at her light steps. The green gems twinkle against the lamplights, her hair cascading down her back, covering the slight cut of the dress, hiding her skin. Devastating. Utterly captivating. Her footsteps stop as she realizes I have not moved. She turns to face me, brows furrowed. I blink and brush away my thoughts to follow her. 

“Are you alright?” She asks, falling into step with me. 

“Yes of course, I get to leave with the most dazzling woman at the party.” 

We link arms, pay for a carriage and start to head towards Audrey Roses’ house. We sit across from each other, but the carriage is small, and I happen to have quite long legs that are deliberately stretched out to brush against hers. I catch her trying not to stare at me so I nudge her and slowly she looks at me. “I am still watching for that kiss, Wadsworth.”

She blinks and I raise my eyebrows at her new forming blush. She had not listened to what I said at all. “Wadsworth?” I ask and she hums a response shaking her head slightly. 

“Cresswell?”

“My kiss? I am still waiting for it.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion then her eyes widened as she processed the words. I lean forward, even as doubt pricks at my mind that she doesn't want to kiss me and will throw me out of the carriage if I move any closer to her. But she doesn't allow those thoughts to take over me completely as she leans in too and her lips meet mine. Warmth fills me, as we press closer together, my hand holds her knee and tightens as she deepens the kiss slightly. The kiss is gentle, soft and somehow better than the first one. The one before had been rushed, a kiss to convey how much we were thankful neither one of us was hurt. This kiss held promise, one I fully intended to keep. I hold my best friend closely for a second longer before I pull back, I search for any doubt in her eyes but find none. I only find adoration in her bright green eyes, her flushed cheeks and slightly bruised mouth. No regret. No hesitancy. So I press a small kiss on her lips and lean back so we can regain our composure before we leave the carriage. 

“I should save you from boring events more often if it means kissing you like that.” Her answering smile leads me to believe that she'd like that too. 

(i love writing dramatic Thomas)

i am working on the asks sent, i have plans and ideas for them so watch on in the next few weeks for them. i also have a feysand idea that i want to do

tages:  @fangirling-again (thank you for editing)  @city-of-fae  @the-hoofflepooff @padfoot-sirius-black @goatahoan @kittycat2187 @loveyatopluto @goddess-of-writing @yikesitsmaddie @lovecakeandmore @boredbookwormgirl

[bkgmaid]

Hi! Could I get some headcanons for Shuichi, Kokichi, Kazuichi, Gundham and Fuyuhiko where a shy fem reader [Who they have a crush on.] somehow ends up straddling them. Maybe a little NSFW if you can. :)

hey anon !! sorry I couldent do all of them , it's getting kinda late where I am but I wanted to get as much done as I could !! please feel free to send me another ask and I'll make sure to do that one in full ♡

Suichi: 

★ it started simple, really. You and suichi were known to both be romantic messes for one another. neither of you really knowing how to romance the other no matter how badly you two wanted to. 

★ so as another ‘hang out you meant to be a date but couldn't say the word’ took place in your bedroom, controller in both of your guy’s hands as you play various games together, you’d call that a win in your book. 

★ in between games, you two often engaged in mindless chatter. sometimes teasing each other about who won or lost the last round, and sometimes just talking about whatever came to mind. 

★ One of those pockets of conversation you two shared when someone mustered up the confidence to talk, was suichi politely asking about who your favorite character was in the game you two played. Now, of course, that was something that required copious amounts of explanation on your part, which you surely didn't mind. 

★ just as he finished his sentence he saw your eyes beam with excitement, repositioning yourself next to him to better explain in detail who it is and why. 

★ as you’re explaining various lore about them, you jump up. Quickly asking him if he’d want to see the things you’ve bought regarding them, but before his mouth could even form the words you had already moved your knees onto the bed, allowing yourself height as you reached around for what you were going to show him, given that it was displayed on a higher shelf.

★ only when you folded your knees down, coming to an almost eye level with him, did you notice the burning red in his cheeks. You were confused about course, but as your eyes were to trail down, you were to realize why. 

★ you found yourself not sat on the bed, but on his thigh. Lightly straddling it with your knees of either side of it, and your crotch directly placed on his upper thigh. You froze. 

★ looking back up at him, his eyes seemed to dart all over the room, avoiding anything but your face as his hands awkwardly moved around him, almost as if he’s fighting the urge to hold you there. 

★ once you regained your self-awareness, you blushed even more than he did. Quickly flailing your arms as you apologize, looking down at the mattress as you begin to lift one leg off of him.

★ though, before you can move another inch, you feel his hands grasp you softly by the hips. Quietly whispering, “N... No. you can stay”. 

Kokichi:

★ kokichi is a huge trickster, given that, you rarely know his true feelings towards you. All you knew is that he loved to see you flustered. 

★ you’re not one for confrontation, so he often found it fun to play around with you in any way he could. In a good way of course, but it never ended without you becoming a blushing mess over whatever he did. 

★ one of these times was at the dining hall. He was spouting his usual banter, making fun of whoever looked at him for too long, or doing anything to try to get your attention. 

★ somehow throughout it all, it came up in his queue of little quips to make you flustered to “jokingly” tell you to sit on his lap. 

★ usually, when he would say something so bold, all you would do was grow blushed and continue to pick at your food as you tried to forget what he just told you. But today wasn’t like that. 

★ you’re not sure if it was the craving to finally put him in his place, or that you just wanted an excuse to straddle him, you obliged. Placing both legs around his, you sat straddled on his lap. 

★ he was more than shocked, assuming that you were just going to brush off his empty requests as you usually did, he wasn’t preparing himself to feel your body pressed up against his as you straddled him in defiance. 

★ he was at a loss for words, really. Stammering as he tries to bring back his composure, staring at you on top of him. You could feel friction start to form in lower areas of you two after only a few seconds of you moving positions, which made you as well as him blush furiously at the realization of that. 

★ thankfully though, Miu was there to snap you two both out of the heated dazed you shared. Graciously shouting, “HEY! GO FUCK SOMEWHERE ELSE!”. Giving you the mind to remove himself from him and return to your room, the implications of how he felt even after a few moments of your dominance made you burn with shock and fluster, but allowed you to keep a mental note of that for future occurrences. 

Kazuichi:

★ you and kazuichi were often troublemakers. Well, he was a troublemaker that dragged you along into his mess. You were a good person, a law-abiding citizen, but after meeting and falling for kazuichi that statement was obligatorily changed. 

★ in this specific occurrence, you two were “harmlessly” tampering with someone’s vehicle while they weren’t there, the reasoning behind that is long, but he deserved it. 

★ nevertheless, as you stood guard as kazuichi went to work, around 10 minutes in you see the man in question begin to return to his vehicle. You panic, quickly tapping kazuichi, muttering through stutters that he’s back earlier than expected. 

★ you two make a break for it, running as fast as you could along with kazuichi as to escape the man. Even running into a little pocket of forest, that swiftly showed itself to be more of a rabbit hole of sorts. 

★ Losing your footing, you find yourself falling to the dirt-filled floor. Hearing the giggles and laughter escape both of you as you begin to get up. Though, before you can, you realize exactly where you fell. 

★ you were flat on top of him, your hands at either side of his face as to brace your fall. Once he realizes this, the laughter stops. Slowly, you watch his face turn beet red as he looks at you. Unable to speak a word, unable to move. 

★ you suffered a similar fate, shocked at how you even ended up in this predicament. Though, after a few moments of silence, you finally gained the courage to start moving. But in doing so, that snapped kazuichi back into focus as well. 

★ soon after you began to move, he pulled you on top of him. Though this time, your hands weren’t beside him to allow support ontop of him. You essentially layed on him after he pulled you on top of him, leaving you to feel the growing friction in his pants as the inches between both your faces depleted. 

★ as you both lay there, the situation that allowed you two to be there wasn’t the concern. You and him had yet to even be close to being this intimate, especially considering it was unbeknownst pining towards each other until this point. your mind was fogged with less than wholesome thoughts regarding the situation, and it was obvious just by the friction between your jeans that kazuichi felt the same in that remark. 

★ as you both lay there, you find yourself subconsciously, very softly, begin grinding on him. Your body just begging to feel him more. As soon as he felt that, he couldn't last another second without his own form of action. He cupped your face with his hands and initiated a kiss between the two of you, deepening it as you continued slowly moving on him. 

[highonchocolate]

Take Two: The Guardian in Gotham Chapter 15

First   Previous   Next   Ao3

“Spots off.” She muttered, face mashed into the soft mattress. Maybe if I just stay like this, I'll eventually sink low enough to become one with my bed. She thought, steadfastly ignoring the disapproval she felt radiating from her Kwami. 

Stretching, her fingers fumbled for the switch on the lamp before she flicked it, filling the room with soft light. 

Adrien's words looped through her mind. 

Your leaving made Lila that much more comfortable with hanging off me! 

Your leaving made Lila that much more comfortable with hanging off me!

Your leav一 

Shut! Up! Shut up! It's not true. It's not my fault. It's not. It's not! She screamed, trying to drown out the dark voice in her mind repeating Adrien's words back to her again and again.

“Ugh, Tikki.” She groaned, words muffled by her pillow. “That was a disaster!” 

She rolled into her back and stared at the dark ceiling, brain not comprehending her surroundings. Her mind was whirling with her body white一hot with embarrassment and anger. 

“Ugh! I don't know why一He never hinted一I didn't know that he was feeling this way!” She waved her arms angrily above her face, trying to explain as she stumbled over her words. 

“I don't know, Tikki,” she sighed, running a hand down her face. 

“I guess I never realized exactly how much he's been through.” She looked down guiltily at the quiet, shameful admission. Becoming one with the bed sounds pretty appealing right now.

“I always assumed he was fine, he was always so happy, always joking around, how did I not see it?”

“Marinette, I think the both of you need to talk some things out.” Tikki told her, not bothering to mince their words. “You'd both been dancing around the deeper implications of your reveal ever since it happened last year, and it was bound to blow up in your faces after a while.”

“Honestly,” they confide, “I was expecting it to happen much sooner.”

“Tikki!” Marinette snapped, pushing herself into a sitting position and crossing her legs. 

“Right, sorry.” They sobered up, flying forward to hover in front of her face. She locked eyes with them, her sad blue stare rising to meet that wise, ancient gaze. 

“This lack of communication, and the unspoken words that lie between you will only serve to push you two farther apart. You are two halves of one whole, yin and yang, balance incarnate. As soulmates, it is your duty to support each other. The weaker your bond, the weaker you are inside.” Their eyes burned with intensity, asking her, begging her, to understand.

Marinette dropped her head into her palms, looking through her fingers at the soft red duvet beneath her.  Her eyes burned with unshed tears. A white hot ball of anger tightened on her chest at the words of the Kwami. God, she was just so tired. 

“Tired of what, Marinette?” Tikki asked. She must have spoken out loud, then. 

At the question, she felt the tightly compressed ball of anger squeeze tighter, and tighter, and tighter, until一

She snapped.

“I'm so fucking tired of everything!” She lifted her head to glare at the ceiling, voice breaking as she struggled to reign in her tears. 

“Tired of all the responsibility, the pressure, from everyone! From you! All anyone expects from me is perfection! God forbid I screw up, or I'll have all of you on my case! And let's not forget that I never asked for any of this in the first place!”  She wiped furiously at her damp cheeks, batting away the warm paws reaching out to brush her cheeks.

“Don't touch me!” 

She stood up in anger, face twisted with fury and sadness. “The only reason I'm here is because some old man decided that since I pulled him out of the middle of the road, I had to be a hero!”

She suddenly collapsed onto the floor as though the fight had been drained out of her, pressing her forehead to the smooth wood as her body shook with quiet sobs.

“I can't deal with all this pressure, Tikki,” she whispered, her hushed confession loud in the silent room. “All the一all the expectations...I just can't.” 

“Oh Marinette…” Tikki cuddled close, humming comfortingly. “I'm sorry if I made it seem like a pressure or an expectation. But you do need to talk. And you both need to apologize. You said a lot of hurtful things一”

“Me?!” She interrupted, bolting upright onto her knees to stare incredulously at the Kwami. “Tikki! Why me?! You heard what he said! He said that since I left, Lila decided to feel him up more! How is that my fault?!” 

“一to each other.” They finished, fixing her with an unimpressed look. “Wait to hear what I have to say before you jump to conclusions.”

She sat back on her heels, feeling chastised.

“And that isn't your fault. He was angry, you both were, so you lashed out at each other. Anger can make you especially cruel and vicious. Boo一hoo the poor rich baby didn't get some hugs from Daddy? Marinette, that was too far. Just like how him blaming you for Lila's actions was also uncalled for. He’s been through a lot, as have you. You both need to work this out.”

“I know.” She felt tears prick at her eyes again. Her anger had vanished, leaving a knot of guilt and shame in its wake. It was an ugly feeling, and she hated her situation so much in that moment.  

Oh Adrien, what have we become? 

“I know,” she repeated, glancing over at her friend. “We need to fix this, fix our relationship.” 

Sighing, she flopped back into her bed. “But I hate being the bigger person.” 

Tikki laughed quietly, flying over to her nightstand and coming back with her phone clutched in their paws. Marinette let out a small oof as they dropped it on her stomach. 

“Text him.” They told her sternly, crossing their paws. 

“I'm getting to it!” She retorted, opening up her phone. As she clicked on her messaging app, a notification popped up. 

Adrien 

Message [Now]

She clicked on it with some trepidation, opening up their chat.

Adrien

Hey [Sent 6:56 AM]

Hesitating, she glanced at Tikki, who nodded encouragingly. Her phone pinged again, and she turned her gaze to the screen.

You

Hey [Sent 6:56 AM]

Adrien 

Im sorry for what I said [Sent 6:57 AM]

You

Im sorry for what I said too [Sent 6:57 AM]

She paused, considering the best way to word her thoughts.

You

Tikki thinks we should talk [Sent 6:57 AM]

(Adrien is typing…)

Adrien

Do you? [Sent 6:57 AM]

She inhaled sharply at the question, mulling it over in her head. Did she really want to talk about it?

Nodding to herself, she typed out her reply.

You

Yes [Sent 6:58 AM]

Adrien

Over the phone or in person? [Sent 6:58 AM]

She tapped out a reply, deleted it, and then retyped it.

You

Phone is easiest [Sent 6:58 AM]

Adrien

Okay [Sent 6:58 AM]

When? [Sent 6:58 AM]

You

Not right now [Sent 6:58 AM]

It's pretty early over here [Sent 6:59 AM]

Maybe in a few hours? [Sent 6:59AM]

Adrien

Okay [Sent 7:00 AM]

As if on cue, her alarm started blaring. With a sigh, she turned it off, pushing herself off the bed and making her way into the bathroom on tired limbs to start the day.

一一一

After the portal had closed in a flare of blue, Adrien had swore loudly and kicked the wall in front of him. Cursing at the new pain flaring from his foot, he transformed and returned to the Agreste Mansion, immediately turning and collapsing onto his bed. Staring at the ceiling, he’d let their argument from earlier loop through his head. 

一don't have time to deal with your little temper tantrums!一

一stop acting like you're a saint一

一pull-down chart of my schedule一

一count on one hand一

一get over yourself!一

一you left一

一take all the hits for you!一

一can't deal with this right now一

His ears had felt like they had been stuffed with cotton; he heard nothing but static. He saw his vision blur, felt something warm trail down both cheeks. He vaguely registered that his chest was heaving as he gasped for breath, but it all seemed insignificant compared to what he had done barely thirty minutes ago.

 What have you done What have you done What have you done一

He heard a faint, panicked voice calling his name, sounding as though it came from far, far away. He latched onto the sound, using it to pull himself back to full consciousness.

“一Kid? Kid? Adrien!” Plagg hovered in front of him, whiskers twitching agitatedly. 

“Plagg?” He had rasped, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Yeah kid, what’s wrong?” 

“I think I messed up, Plagg,” his voice broke on another sob, and he brought his shaking palms to his face to wipe away the tears staining his face.

“Kid…” The Kwami had looked pained, flying over at his admission to rub their head against his in comfort. 

“Adrien…” 

They paused, trying to phrase their words properly.

“What happened back there wasn’t just your fault. Both you and Pigtails were angry at each other, and at what has been happening, and it all erupted. Like Mount Vesuvius, way back when.”

It was a lame joke, and a terrible analogy, but it coaxed a hoarse laugh out of the teenager’s hunched form.

“I just...I feel really bad Plagg, but I also don’t regret telling her some of that stuff.” He confessed, looking down at his lap.

“Okay…” They said slowly, “You said you don’t regret telling Pigtails some things. What do you regret telling her?”

At the question, leaf green eyes had once again filled with sparkling tears, rolling down his cheeks with trails of silver. “I一I said that Lila harassing me was her fault! But it’s not! It’s nobody’s fault but Lila’s! How could I have just said that to her, Plagg?” He asked desperately, looking sadly up at the Kwami.

“Aw, kid, sometimes when you’re mad, you say things you don’t mean just so that you can hurt the other person. You feel ugly and mean, and you take it out on them.” Plagg gazed at him solemnly, trying to convey their thoughts.

“...When did you get so wise, Plagg?” Adrien had asked, a sad smile playing across his face.

“Kid, I was always wise,” they retorted, smirking at him. “My wisdom just chooses to show itself  every century or so.”

‘Well, what does your infinitely wise self think I should do, then?” Adrien asked, falling backwards onto the bed with a sigh.

“Apologize.” Plagg said bluntly, nodding towards his phone where it lay on his desk. “She said a lot of cruel things to you, but sometimes it’s best to forgive.”

“I guess.” He had sighed, sliding off the bed to grab his phone. Unlocking it, he smiled down at his wallpaper, a selfie of the five of them in the park, before opening up his messaging app. He clicked on Marinette’s contact and then froze, fingers stilling over the lit screen. What do I say?

Plagg curled up on his shoulder in silent support, nuzzling him softly. 

You

Hey [Sent 12:56 PM]

He looked over at Plagg, eyes wide. “I just sent it. And it was the stupidest text ever.” 

“Did you apologize?” They asked, looking at his phone screen.

“No!” He had yelled, sounding panicked.

“Quick, say you’re sorry!” The Kwami urged, nudging him insistently.

As he began typing, his phone vibrated with a notification.

Marinette

Hey [Sent 12:56 PM]

“Apologize!’ They hissed as he fumbled for the send button.

“I’m trying to send it!”

“Let me proofread it!”

“Get off, Plagg!”

You

I'm sorry for what I said [Sent 12:57 PM]

Marinette

I'm sorry for what I said too [Sent 12:57 PM]

(Marinette is typing…)

She said she’s sorry too!”

“I’m right here kid, I can see it myself.” The Kwami had responded drily. “Now ask her about that conversation.”

“Calm down, I will!” He said, typing out a question. 

“Oh wait hold on, she already asked.”

Marinette

Tikki thinks we should talk [Sent 12:57 PM]

He read the text, feeling his doubt rising.  He didn’t care if Tikki wanted to talk he did, he wanted to know what she thought! Did she not want to? Is that why she said only Tikki wanted them to talk?!

You

Do you? [Sent 12:57 PM]

(Marinette is typing…)

Marinette

Yes [Sent 12:58 PM]

He exhaled in relief, his shoulders loosening.

You

Okay [Sent 12:58 PM]

When? [Sent 12:58 PM]

Marinette

Not right now [Sent 12:58 PM]

It's pretty early over here [Sent 12:59 PM]

Maybe in a few hours? [Sent 12:59 PM]

You

Okay [Sent 1:00 PM]

Adrien sighed and shut off his phone, glancing at the time as he plugged it into the charger. 12:17 AM. It had been eleven hours since their conversation, and Marinette still hadn’t called. Logically, he knew that there was a time difference, and that it was around six in the evening for Marinette, but that didn’t keep him from getting antsy. With another glance at the clock, he clicked play on the next episode of Avatar, settling in to watch as Zuko and Sokka infiltrated the Boiling Rock.

[stressedoldnerd]

To my U.S. followers choosing not to vote

I want to preface this by saying this is not a post asking you to vote for Biden. Although I am choosing to, and believe that is the right decision for me, that is not what this is about. This is for all of the people reading this that, for some reason or another, have come to the conclusion that they absolutely cannot support Biden as the Democratic nominee.

I am asking you: please vote. Because this 2020 election, there are so many more people running for public office than Joe Biden and Donald Trump. If you have to skip the presidential vote, that’s ultimately your choice, but it is concerning me that this choice will impact thousands of elections unrelated to the White House.

There are 35 senate seats up for election in 2020. Every seat in the House of Representatives has an election this year. And beyond the federal, state and local races that are largely ignored will have deeply significant impacts on the every day lives of people across the country. By encouraging your peers not to vote for Biden by encouraging them not to participate in this election at all, the outcomes of these more local races will likely be skewed towards conservative candidates that often cause unimaginable daily harm to the lives of their constituents, and these outcomes will be largely ignored by our society.

Imagine what could happen if Mitch McConnell is no longer in control of the Senate. Imagine what it would be like to have a receptive ear like Shannon Freshour as your representative instead of Jim Jordan. Imagine cities and counties taking important progressive actions because the newest generation of young leftists are running for office at all levels of government this year.

It is our responsibility as people eligible to vote to learn what that really entails. I’m begging everyone who reads this to do the research into local and state elections in your district (and if you need resources on how to do this, talk to me! I’m happy to point you towards some that I find useful). There’s more to this election than Biden vs. Trump, and we all (myself included) need to continually remember this going into November and consider the wider implications of telling our peers not to vote at all.

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Quasi-Confession

Alastor visits @hiss-and-vinegar Sir Pentious in the boiler room and then shit hits the fans.

Listen. Some of y’all are following for the relationship drama, right? For the soap opera action? That good good telenovela shit? This is the thread you want to read. This is the thread you’ve been waiting for. It’s got what you want. It’s got what you crave. It’s got this:

Sir Pentious moves back, out of the way suddenly, staring at Alastor like he's a different person. Was this even possible? He.... "ARE YOU IN LOVE WITH ME, ALASSSTOR???"

Brace yourselves for an emotional roller coaster.

Sir Pentious

Local snake is waiting in the boiler room, which is still pretty difficult to navigate. Watch your head, you might bump it on a pipe or cable. Or some slab of metal. Sir Pentious has an easy time moving around in here, CLEARLY you are just clumsy. He's flicking about on his phone, sending another message to Alastor to let him know where he can be found.

He sends his usual tophat :3 emoji along with it.

Alastor

It’s mere seconds before Alastor replies with a “🎶 ✔️✔️✔️” and only a few more seconds after that before he’s arrived, knocking on the door before letting himself in with a cheery “Hello~!”

He COULD have just teleported straight into the room rather than in front of the door. But he remembers how that went for his double. He’s not risking it.

Sir Pentious

Ah! There's that familiar radio voice. Penny's head swivels towards the source and he leans back against a workbench, flicking his tongue as he waves to the deerman.

"GREETINGSSSS, ALASSSTOR! GIVE ME YOUR HAND! OH, AND, I WANT TO SSSSEEE THE MUG, AS WELL."

Alastor

"Of course!" He offers over the travel mug with stacked layers of unhappy sinners depicting the rings of hell printed around it. "All of Hell, just for you, as well deserved. And mercifully free of any sad excuses for watered-down tea."

Although he was briefly tempted to fill it with hot water and claim it was one-second tea.

“Left or right?” He holds out both hands anyway, Sir Pentious can take whichever one he wants. (Also check out that bling on his left wrist. He’s got that watch Sir Pentious stole for him.) “You know I’m always eager to lend a hand, but I didn’t think it was going to be so literal!”

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious reaches over to take the mug, purrrrring as he looks it over. It is absolutely just a travel mug, but it was an offering! He is going to put it on his workbench.

Oh, and he does notice that watch! A large toothy grin spreads upon his face, and he takes hold of Alastor's left hand. That's more common for rings, isn't it?

The ring from Valera is clearly visible on his own hand. It shines in the warmth of the boiler room's lights.

Sir Pentious adjusts those multiple lensed glasses of his to get more accurate measurements, careful yet at the same time, rough. He squeezed at finger joints and pinched skin... He could be taking measurements for all kinds of things at this rate.

"GOOD TO SSEE YOU'RE GETTING USE OUT OF THE WATCH, ALASSSTOR! HAS IT HELPED YOU?"

Alastor

He got a horrible rasping cobra purr! He'd steal every tacky gimmicky mug from every cheesy souvenir shop in Pentagram City if he thought they'd earn him more purrs. (He didn't *buy* the mug, obviously.)

“Yes indeed!” He’s enjoyed admiring it. And listening to it tick. Sometimes he even checks the time with it, although he’s generally got a razor sharp internal clock. A big help. “And quite a handsome accessory it’s made, too! But then I knew I could trust your sense of style.”

He tries not to get overly lost in the sensation of his hand being manipulated. Those were such PRECISE measurements... By this point he has no idea what in the world Sir Pentious needs these measurements for, but considering the quantity he’s taking... After a moment of hesitation, Alastor asks, “How precise do these measurements need to be? Would taking my glove off help?”

Sir Pentious

The question stirs him, and Pentious tilts his head in thought. "WELL, NO... I CAN BUILD ANYTHING *UPON* YOUR GLOVE." There's that grin again, "I'VE NEVER SEEN YOU WITHOUT THEM! IT WOULD BE *INVASIVE*, WOULD IT NOT?"

Alastor

What in the world is he building? Alastor’s current best guess is a weapon. Some kind of mechanical robot glove. Something that needs fairly precise but not skintight dimensions. “It would only be invasive if you *demanded.* I’m freely volunteering it! But, no, I wouldn’t take my gloves off around just anyone.”

Sir Pentious

Tongue flick. Once. Twice. Sir Pentious takes the other hand, checking for any inconsistencies.

"UNLESS YOUR HANDS ARE GROTESQUE IN SSSSOME WAY, I NEED NOT SSSEE THEM! MY CURIOUSSSITY ISS NOT PIQUED!"

Is it weird to offer that? He's going to think on it idly later.

Alastor

“They’re shockingly normal,” he reassures him. “So if your measurements don’t need to be that precise, there’s no need for it!”

He’s not quite sure if he’s disappointed or relieved. Relieved, probably. He said it wouldn’t be invasive, but in truth he would feel more than a little exposed with his ungloved hand in someone’s grip.

Sir Pentious

He finally seems to finish up, and Penny scribbles down all the measurements he'd taken, with a barely legible scrawl. This was not the writing he used for letters, this was definitely his engineering scrawl.

"THERE WE ARE!! ALL FINISHED!!" Prr prr prr prr, "WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO NOW?"

Alastor

He’s studying Sir Pentious’s handwriting off and on as he scribbles, until he stops writing and Alastor focuses directly on his face as he speaks.

Oh—happy sounds. Alastor automatically echoes them in pulses of static. “Well—a fine question! What’s there to do down here?” He glances around the boiler room... then settles his gaze on Sir Pentious’s throat. “How about you give me that bow tie you promised me weeks ago, hm?”

Sir Pentious

Oh the eyes on his neck get a squint out of him, but the words that follow are more reassuring.

"OH, THAT OLD THING? I'D NEARLY FORGOTTEN."

Luckily he kept a bunch of random things in his jacket, and he began to fish around for it, "YOU SURE ARE GOOD AT REMINDING ME ABOUT THINGSSSS THAT HAPPENED WEEKSSSS AGO, ALASSSTOR."

Alastor

He opens his mouth to snark back—something about *having a working memory*—before he realizes Sir Pentious is referring to Alastor’s referring to Broadway. His mouth shuts with a click of his teeth like a dial turning off. “Hm.”

Sir Pentious

He's right, Sir Pentious' working memory is generally tied to the immediacy and things that pissed him off. The serpent continues digging around before he retrieves his old bowtie, holding up the accessory and looking at the yellow pendent in the center. He holds it up as if he were dangling a piece of meat, "HERE YOU ARE, OLD CHAP. THISSS ISS WHAT YOU ARE SSSEEKING, ISS IT NOT?"

Alastor

He feels a little bit like a dog being prompted to beg for a morsel. “If that’s what you’re offering!” He holds out his hand, palm up, for Sir Pentious to drop the bow tie in. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that if he tries to grab it, Sir Pentious is going to jerk it back.

Sir Pentious

*He would be right because Penny is that bitch.* But instead he drops it down into Alastor's waiting hand, "I HAVEN'T WORN IT SINCE I REMOVED IT WHEN I PUT ON YOURS. BUT I HAVE KEPT IT WITH ME, SSO! SSTILL WARM. NYA HA!" That's a weird thing to say. He won't think on it anymore.

Alastor

Alastor won’t think on it either. Which is to say, he will think on it A WHOLE LOT, RIGHT NOW, just not on the implications of the fact that Sir Pentious felt the need to point it out.

He tugs off his current bow tie with a flourish and slides the new one in place. “I’ll have to start wearing a little yellow so it doesn’t look out of place.” As he ties the bow tie, he casts a critical gaze down at his red-on-red-with-red-trim outfit, looking for something he can switch out or somewhere he can accessorize.

Sir Pentious

He's wearing a lot of yellow and black himself, so the red bowtie does have a bit of an out of place look, but to Sir Pentious, it was the prize that mattered. He had something of Alastor's, and those who were in the know would be able to recognize that much. A symbol, a victory, perhaps. Spoils and all that.

"A LITTLE YELLOW WOULD SUIT NICELY! MIGHT I SUGGEST A BLACK COAT WITH YELLOW PINTRIPES? NOT THAT YOU COULD SSSTEAL MY LOOK IF YOU TRIED! YOU'D NEED MORE EYESSS FOR THAT."

Alastor

He’s not quite so bold to ask if Sir Pentious has any old coats he’s willing to hand off—although the thought crosses his mind. “Ha! And look like one of your minions? Not if you don’t plan on hiring me full time.” He finishes with the bow and drops his hands, tipping up his chin to show it off. “Am I straight?”

Sir Pentious

A SHARP laugh, and Sir Pentious gestures to Alastor fondly. "NOT AT *ALL.* BUT YES, YOU LOOK FINE!! VERY STRIKING."

Alastor

He blinks a moment as he tries to work out why he’s being laughed at; then huffs. All right, fair enough. “Good to hear!” He stows away his recently-removed bow tie in the collection he’s been carrying around in his pocket.

Sir Pentious

What a shit eating grin from Pentious, who leans in suddenly VERY close to Alastor, much larger than the twig of a man.

"YOU MAKE IT SSOUND LIKE YOU'D ENJOY WORKING FOR ME! BEING BOSSED BY BETTERSSS? NYA HAHA, I MEAN THAT *AFFECTIONATELY*, OF COURSE. YOU'RE NO SSSTRATEGIST."

Alastor

He doesn’t lean back an inch. He just tips his head back, smiling up at Sir Pentious. “I don’t have betters.” And for a moment, his smile is very menacing. There are ways of teasing he’s fine with. That’s not one of them.

But the moment passes. It was, after all, intended affectionately. “However, I also don’t have ambitions! Not any more glamorous than entertaining myself. And I won’t lie, I’ve never found better entertainment than assisting with someone else’s grand ambitions. The drama! The pathos! It’s why I’m here, after all!” He gestures vaguely above them, indicating the hotel.

Sir Pentious

While others might realize their teasing fell flat, Sir Pentious remained in that competitive space, looking over The Radio Demon's wide, dangerous grin. He was no stranger to danger, not at all. Though Alastor did not consider him a rival, Sir Pentious couldn't help the sheer thrill he felt from the possibility of the two at one another's throats. Part of being in Hell, you know.

He follows Alastor's vague gesturing and makes a face, "YES, WELL, EVERYBODY KNOWS YOU DON'T ACTUALLY *CARE* ABOUT THE BETTERMENT OF *SSS*SINNERS. YOU ARE ALWAYS IN IT FOR YOUR OWN ENTERTAINMENT. BUT IF YOU WORK FOR ME, A MAN OF YOUR POWER, I WOULD PREFER IT IF YOU *DID* CARE ABOUT WHAT I AM TRYING TO DO!" Though he doesn't get too uppity about it, preferring instead to adjust his bowtie, "YOU'VE PUT IN A LOT OF EFFORT TO HELP ME WITH MY AIRSHIP, SO, I SHOULD HOPE IT ISSSSN'T A LONG CONFUSING GAME."

Alastor

A game? At that, Alastor draws back a little. He still thinks—? Well, of course, still. Of course still. It’s only been a few months. He’s going to be proving himself for years. He’s going to be proving himself for DECADES. “Oh, I get most of my entertainment from schadenfreude, that much is true—but with the hotel, I’m hoping to get my schadenfreude by watching it crash and burn. Around YOU, I get my schadenfreude from all the people you’ll be crushing on the way up.” A dark smile—almost a conspiratorial one, as if they’re discussing secret plans rather than goals that Sir Pentious regularly announces at top volume. “There’s very little interesting about man challenging the devil and losing—it’s what everyone expects, isn’t it? It’s the inevitable, the status quo. I can watch an overlord fail at that any day of the week. But man OVERTHROWING the devil—a mere mortal, rising up from the mud, becoming something greater than one of the very celestial powers that govern the universe—now THAT, that IS a show worth seeing! I want to see hubris rewarded!”

His eyes are glowing brighter as he leans closer to Sir Pentious. “And all of us who are so strong because of our postmortem superpowers, we dealmakers and bargainers—I don’t think any of us stand a chance. We’re just borrowing a measure of the power of infernal demons and fallen angels. A moon can’t outshine the sun whose light it’s reflecting. The only one who can do it must be a master of the one completely human power of creation: invention. It’s you or nobody. And ‘nobody’ is a terribly boring story.”

Sir Pentious

Their faces are practically together, these weird old men. His hood floops outward, and he stares at Alastor with all of his glowing red eyes. Menacing man. Sir Pentious cannot hold back the shrill cackle of glee that escapes his throat. "OF COURSE, YOU ARE CORRECT, ALASSSTOR! I BROUGHT INNOVATION TO THIS INFERNAL CESSPOOL-- EVERYTHING THAT I HAVE, THAT I AM, I BUILT IT MYSSSSELF, I WORKED FOR IT!!! THEY WILL ALL REGRET LAUGHING AT ME ONCE MY FACE IS *EVERYWHERE.*"

He loved to be praised, so much. Look at him preening again, it gave color to his patterns and his ego hungered for more. Power coursed through his veins at the mere thought of being better than everyone else. His blood would taste sweet with ambition.

Alastor

“If one knows where to look, in one way or another your influence is visible in every building down here. You’ve already shaped Hell! Anyone who doesn’t recognize that is an idiot!” And that kind of technological prowess MATTERS to Alastor, whatever the TV/satellite/computer/Internet bozos think to the contrary. He lived a life on the technological cutting edge. “Once your face is everywhere, if you command it, they won’t be AROUND to regret it anymore.”

And oh, he can’t wait to see it.

In the meantime, seeing Sir Pentious with his ego freshly fluffed is nearly as good a sight. For a moment Alastor swears Sir Pentious looks more *vivid.* Alastor has to force himself to lean back before he does something stupid.

Sir Pentious

He's polishing his talons on his suit, then admiring them as if they were freshly painted. Sir Pentious *purrs*, looking over to Alastor without turning his head, and all of his eyes follow suit.

"MM. YOU KNOW JUSSST WHAT TO SSSAY. I'VE MISSED HAVING YOU AROUND, MY FRIEND."

Alastor

“I’ve missed *being* around.” There’s an edge of desperation to his tone before he reels it back in. Professional charismatic radio host voice. “Everyone else down here is so boring. You can’t imagine!”

Sir Pentious

"HA!" He wiggles his talons as he begins to slither around, over and under various pipes and cables, maneuvering his lengthy body with ease and fluidity. "OH, I ASSURE YOU, I CAN! I HAVE BEEN HERE MUCH LONGER THAN YOU, ALASSSTOR. THERE WAS A TIME I USED TO BE EAGER TO ENCOUNTER NEW ARRIVALS, TO SSSEE HOW THE WORLD HAD CHANGED AS TIME WENT ON, BUT THEY BECAME SSO MUCH MORE **BORING**. TRUE CLASS AND SSTYLE HASS BEEN LOSST TO THE LIVING WORLD, YOU UNDERSTAND."

Alastor

"True enough! Everything's so... *cheap* these days." He watches Sir Pentious slither around. "Somebody's got to show these sinners some proper class and style. And if you want something done right..."

Sir Pentious

Glowing eyes in shadows, anywhere that's not lit up by the extra lights Sir Pentious has added. It's a stark contrast from light to shadow, and he beams, coming up behind Alastor, though carefully. He doesn't touch him, "YOU NEED ONLY LOOK TO SSSIR PENTIOUS! HA!!"

Alastor

He glances back over his shoulder without turning, beaming back just as brightly. "And truer words were never said."

Sir Pentious

Just two guys being dudes.

"ALASSSTOR, IT REALLY IS INTERESTING THAT YOU DON'T WANT *MORE.* YOU REALLY COULD HAVE IT ALL... OH, BUT THEN WE REALLY WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO CHAT LIKE THIS, EH? WHAT A SHAME! CAN'T HAVE THAT."

Alastor

“Can’t have that!” He turns to lean back against a table so he can see Sir Pentious directly again. “I COULD, but I don’t WANT it all. I’m an entertainer, not a... a mad scientist warrior king. YOU could have a stupendous career as a circus contortionist, but I doubt you’d be any more content with that than I would be stuck on a throne making tedious decisions about infernal infrastructure and Hellish cabinet posts. I don’t want subjects—I want an audience.”

His smile twitches toward a grimace. He mutters, “I wouldn’t mind more of *that*—but I certainly wouldn’t get it as a conqueror.”

Sir Pentious

"WELL, I COULD GET YOU AN AUDIENCE! ONCE I'VE TAKEN THIS EMPIRE FOR MYSELF, THERE SHALL NOT BE ANY EMPTY SEATS TO WORRY ABOUT!" He beams, spreading out his arms, "AND THEN! OH, WELL, WE'D HAVE TO CHANGE THINGS UP EVERY FEW YEARS, SO IT DOESN'T BECOME BORING."

Alastor

"Would you?" Alastor brightens again. "I mean, I know you COULD do that, no doubt there—but would you really?"

Sir Pentious

Look at him smiling. He's smiling so much at Alastor. "WHY, OF COURSE! IF WE ARE WORKING *TOGETHER*, THEN I HAVE NO ISSUE WITH THAT. IT WILL BE *FUN* WATCHING WHATEVER YOU DO TO THEM!"

He flicks his talons this way and that, slithering through the pipe maze again. *Enrichment.*

Alastor

His eyes glitter at the thought of it. A captive audience, provided by no less a personage than the ruler of Hell. True, he’d rather his audience listen to him out of adoration rather than fear—he’s an entertainer, after all!—but they can work out the details later. He was adored before. All he needs is to be listened to again, to be given a chance to prove himself, and he’ll be adored again. He’s sure of it.

“I’m counting that as a promise!” Oh, he’s excited just as the THOUGHT of it. He taps a foot on the floor as some bouncy Harlem stride plays in the background under his words. “If you’re irritated now at me for remembering things you did weeks ago, you’re going to hate me when I remind you about this promise in a few years! Ha!”

Sir Pentious

A cackle from the rafters as Sir Pentious slithers around up there.. He finally hangs upside down in front of Alastor with that large familiar grin.

"OH, I AM CERTAIN I WON'T HEAR THE END OF IT! BUT I CANNOT IGNORE THAT YOU HAVE *HELPED* ME. I DISLIKE BEING INDEBTED TO ANYONE, BUT I CANNOT PRETEND OTHERWISE!"

He tips his hat, which is miraculously staying on his head.

"I DO NOT SHAKE HANDS WITH YOU, BUT I COULD PUT IT IN WRITING."

Alastor

“Oh, that’s entirely unnecessary!” Pause. “But I’d love it if you did!” He scoops up the nearest blank-looking piece of paper and a pen, steps sideways into an unexpectedly large shadow, and somehow emerges from it next to Sir Pentious, standing upside-down on the ceiling next to him. “So it’s to be a formal agreement, then, is it!”

He looks all dramatic standing there upside-down for a grand total of three seconds, before his clothing remembers gravity and the tail of his coat fwoofs down to dangle around his head.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious watches him standing upside down, and he smirks, waving a dismissive hand. "A *PROPER* CONTRACT, ALASSSTOR. I AM A BUSINESSMAN! NO BLANK PAPERSSS HERE. I DIDN'T RUN MY FACTORIESSSS ON BLANK PAPERSSS."

Alastor

“Well, you need a blank paper in order to write the contract on it, don’t you?” He offers over the paper and pen, go on.

Sir Pentious

"I CAN'T WRITE THAT *HERE*, AL! WHAT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR??" He huffs, "I WON'T FORGET, AND IF I DO, YOU WILL REMIND ME!"

Alastor

"Not if you're going to get on my case about reminding you." He drops the pen and paper. The paper flutters slowly down to the ground. "It was a nice sentiment, all the same."

Sir Pentious

Oh look at Alastor getting huffy. Sir Pentious frowns, slithering down to retrieve the paper and pen, "DON'T THROW A *FIT*, I AM NOT GETTING ON YOUR *CASE.* I SAID WHAT I MEANT! YOU WILL REMIND ME, I AM COUNTING ON YOU."

Alastor

Only very lightly huffy; and more for the drama of it than anything else. Still, the idea of being *counted on* makes him perk up. Doesn't that sound all official.

He melts back into the shadows to reappear again next to Sir Pentious. "Then I guess I'll just have to pester you about it sometime!"

Sir Pentious

"YESSS, THAT ISS THE POINT. I HAVE A LOT OF THINGSS TO KEEP TRACK OF. ONCE I AM PROPERLY IN MY AIRSHIP, AND IT ISS OFF THE GROUND, I WILL SET UP THE CONTRACT AND TYPE IT UP ALL NICE. SCRIBBLING IT DOWN ON SSOME BLANK PAPER HARDLY BEFITSSS A HELLISH GENTLEMAN SSUCH AS MYSELF." He gestures to Alastor's suit, "YOU MIGHT ENJOY A PATCHWORK SSTYLE, BUT I DO NOT! NONE OF THAT 'MAKE DO' ATTITUDE, SSSIR."

Alastor

"I happen to like handwritten legal documents! It makes them feel important. Like the Declaration of Independence." He pauses and thinks that over. "That doesn't carry much weight with you, does it? All right, typewritten it is! But I expect to see a draft before you ask me to sign. I have to make sure the terms are equitable, after all."

Sir Pentious

He leans all close to Alastor again.

"OH? EQUITABLE HOW SSSSO? WORRIED I'LL SSSIGN YOU INTO FORCED LABOR, ALASSSTOR?"

Alastor

"Worried you'll let me off too easy," he says dryly. "What if you do something like say you're going to do this big favor for me on the basis of our current friendship and my prior services rendered? What about future services? What if I never do anything else for you ever again, but this contract still holds you to helping me out? No no no, I won't stand for it! You're offering me an enormous favor, my friend, and I intend to earn it properly!"

Sir Pentious

... Oh. Usually people were expecting Sir Pentious to be the one to pull the rug out from others--this was something he... Somehow didn't see coming at all! Alastor wanted to make sure that he was held to the right standards. Don't mind Sir Pentious, he's just going to be having Feelings over here, looking away. Friend...

"YES, WELL. GOOD! THEN. IT WOULD BE A BIG MISSSSTAKE TO TRY TO MAKE ME LOOK THE FOOL, ALASSSTOR!"

Alastor

"I wouldn't dream of it!" He hesitates; then decides, well, all right, as long as he's saying friendly things already—and knowing Sir Pentious keeps asking for directness—

"Truth be told," he says, casually examining his claws like he's only half paying attention to what he says, "if I ever offered to shake with you on something—and I know you've already said you'll never shake with me, that's fine, but IF I did—that's what would be on the line. No souls. Just an unbreakable guarantee that I can't—betray you." He leaves off the *again* and adds a shrug, like it's no big deal. "I don't think you'll ever want to shake even under those conditions. But, all the same, I thought I'd let you know! Since you keep bringing it up like you think I'm just waiting for some clever opportunity to trick you out of your soul!"

Sir Pentious

There's a sound in his ears, like *ringing.* Sir Pentious could swear he could feel his heart pounding in his ears but only briefly. What was *that* sensation? Generally, he felt aches in his chest like that with Valera when she said something *particularly* caring...but this was Alastor. This was probably just another example of a good friend, and what good friends do. Good friends don't betray one another! Yes, of course.

But he couldn't let it go that easily, his brow creased as he looked the deerman all over. "*WHY?*" It was extremely likely that this Alastor had betrayed the Pentious of his own Hell before. Penny was certain every Al was guilty of that at this point... But why try SO hard? Why be so afraid of angering him? Could guilt alone be such a driving force? It felt like there was a very obvious piece of a puzzle missing to him.

"WHY ARE YOU... WHY DO YOU CARE *SO* MUCH?"

Alastor

"Because you're thirty-three percent of my circle of friends—and the only one of them I viciously, violently backstabbed!" He laughs shortly, and his stomach twists and churns as they delve back into that topic that he always feels lurking just under everything they say.

"I don't know how bad things went in your universe, but here—I... it's no exaggeration to say you might well have been ruling Pentagram City by now—maybe more—if not for me. And if we're going to be friends again, we—I know you still don't trust me fully. You can't. You shouldn't! *I* know I'm not going to betray you again, but am I just supposed to say 'take my word for it'?

"On the other hand, a bargain that means I can't betray you is *cheap* for me—in fact, it's *absolutely free*—because all I'm doing is promising not to do something I wasn't going to do anyway! But for you, why—it would give you a little reassurance without your needing to trust me a lick more! And if it costs me nothing but gives you that much... Speaking as a professional dealmaker, that's a bargain if I've ever heard one."

Sir Pentious

Well, that settled that, didn't it! For friendship. Alastor said it himself! And he made quite a big deal (pardon the pun) of it too. He always talked so much, you'd hardly want for a conversation with him around.

.... Except. That feeling gave Sir Pentious some *concern*. It was still lingering, not as strongly but it was there. He's thinking over something the talkative deerman had said...

".... NOT *ME.* I WAS BETRAYED, YES, AN ALASTOR BETRAYED A SIR PENTIOUS, INDEED.... BUT IT WASN'T *ME*." That was something that had always stuck around, lingered in the pit of his own long intestines. The serpent wrung his hands together, unconscious of his own idle fidgeting.

"IF THE ONLY REASON WE ARE FRIENDSSSS ISSS BECAUSE OF *RESIDUAL* GUILT, ISSNT THAT BOUND TO FAIL, TOO?"

Alastor

He shrugs and nods, granted, yes; they’ve both been content to treat each other as substitutes, even though each knows the other is different. Haven’t they?

But he doesn’t get a chance to address that before a question demands his full attention. “*No!*” The question horrifies him enough that he takes a step closer to Sir Pentious, hands half raised, like he’s bracing to try to stop him from swinging around a knife. “No no no, I—w—if I was motivated by avoiding guilt, then I’d be avoiding *you!* I’ve felt more guilt in the last two months than I have in the last twenty years! No. We’re friends because I *want* your friendship.”

He lets out a rattled laugh. “And you can see how well I’m proving that! I try to reassure you, it makes you worry about something else, now I have to re-reassure you.” He gestures between the two of them. “*This* is why I’m trying so hard. Because I can’t quite get it right yet.” He holds up a finger. “*Yet.*”

Sir Pentious

He's startled by the other's sudden movement, and his hood opens up. Alastor's insistence, that earnest way of speaking. It made that feeling even *stronger.*

He almost expected Alastor to grab his hand, but that didn't happen. Sir Pentious rubbed at his arm.... He's feeling guilty, too. For being so paranoid, skeptical. *Afraid.* It was a lot to think about.

"YET..." He looks away. "... I. AM SORRY, THAT I AM. LIKE THIS."

Alastor

Alastor blinks, then leans back against a work table again. Taking in the apology, turning it over in his mind. It feels like needles lining the inside of his ribs, stabbing when he tries to inhale. “For—for what, a little healthy suspicion? I didn’t get you and you didn’t get got by me, but—your suspicion is more than justified. I don’t hold it against you.” The corner of his mouth twitches weakly. “I’m amazed you’re giving me a chance at all.”

Sir Pentious

A little healthy suspicion? Sir Pentious makes a face, digging his talons into his arm further, scratching now.

"IT *ISN'T* HEALTHY, THOUGH. IS IT." This was a.... Decidedly more vulnerable topic, but this was the boiler room. No one came down here anymore, not since Penny set up shop.

"I AM NOT HEALTHY, NOT IN THE LEAST."

Alastor

Alastor tenses as he sees Sir Pentious’s talons tighten on his arm. He wants to reach out. Instead he just grips the edge of the table with both hands, claws digging into the bottom of it.

“If I were the one in your sh...” No shoes. “... If I were standing where you are? I would never so much as *speak* to a Radio Demon again. No matter what dimension he’s from or what promises he makes. So... I know you've said your mind is unhealthy, but *that suspicion*, I don’t think *that's* unhealthy.” He leans a little closer, not quite getting off the table. “If *you* think it is, I won’t know how unless you tell me.”

(He’s dimly aware that the radio distortion modulating his voice has been ebbing and flowing like waves on a beach—but like the tide going out, steadily declining. He can’t remember the last time he spoke so plainly for more than a sentence or two.)

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious doesn't lean back this time, but he's scrunching up more. His skull is *abuzz* with activity, and what feels like pressure on his brain.

".... YOU WOULDN'T, AND YET, WHEN I BECOME SSSO SSSKEPTICAL, I CAN... *FEEL* LIKE I'VE FAILED. IT TURNSSS ME AGAINSSSST THE ONES I." Love. "THE ONES THAT ARE IMPORTANT TO ME. AND I." Lose them.

He can't even finish his sentence, dragging his talons down his arm, a grounding technique that was more self punishing than helpful.

Alastor

Alastor automatically guesses what the first word left unsaid is. His heart leaps into his throat. He swallows it back down; the word isn’t meant for him.

He can’t watch that clawing anymore. “Maybe I can’t help—I think I’d make a poor alienist—and I can’t speak for everyone else important to you” (he feels daring just including himself on that list) “but, for what it’s worth... I’m hard to break and harder to scare off.” He’s gonna. Just. Carefully reach out, and put a hand on Sir Pentious’s wrist. Hi, can he take that? He’ll even let Sir Pentious claw up his arm instead if he wants. It’s fine if not, he’ll just wait and see.

Sir Pentious

The second his wrist is taken, Sir Pentious' eyes widen *considerably.* There's that rush in his chest, a dull *aching.* The puzzle piece was just out of reach, he could *feel* it.

He doesn't even fight it, even as his mind screams at him, *you failure, you absolute failure, look at you! Might as well offer your neck for the chopping block, you miserable failure.* He *winces*, though it isn't at Alastor. Stressed out tongue flicks, he's having a hard time maintaining eye contact.

".... YOU. PROMISE. YOU HAVE TO *PROMISE* ME THAT YOU WILL NOT... LEAVE." With every second that passes, it is like an eternity of ache in his chest. Similar to when Valera held his hands, rubbed them and spoke to him so softly. Grounding him.

Alastor

Alastor flinches when Sir Pentious winces, but Sir Pentious isn't pulling back, so Alastor isn't either.

"I promise." His voice is so blatantly, embarrassingly human. "I promise that I won't leave." He'd seal it in magic if Sir Pentious would let him. Instead, he just squeezes a little more firmly. "I'm your friend and your ally. I promise."

Sir Pentious

*But why?*

Why did Valera have so much patience? Why did Alastor not hate him? By all rights, he should infuriate them, but instead, they always reached out to him...!

... His eyes snap open wider than ever, and he feels like the last puzzle piece slips into place.

       "ALASSSTOR. ARE YOU...?" OH, boy. He wants to be wrong, right now, more than ever, he wants to be wrong. If he *isn't* wrong, then... All of those moments, all of those playful snuggles and schemes.... Well they weren't just friendly, were they?

He's looking very pale, suddenly, a grit teeth sort of look. He's realized it. The reason why he stuck around was the same as a Valera's.

*Love.*

Alastor

Something went wrong. He can see it. "What?" What did he do? What did he say? Was it—?

Is his hand too close to Sir Pentious's? He jerks his hand back. "Sorry! I'm sorry, that was—It's a unilateral promise, not a bargain, I wasn't trying to shake on it."

In his heart he knows that's not the problem. But he can't see what the problem is—unless it's the worst.

He hopes it's not the worst.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious moves back, out of the way suddenly, staring at Alastor like he's a different person.

Was this even *possible?* He.... "ARE YOU IN *LOVE* WITH ME, ALASSSTOR???" Even if the deer said no, Pentious wasn't sure he'd believe him this time. Everything they did together, the way Alastor had warmed up to him, sooner than most others ever would consider...!

He liked him *like that.* And Sir Pentious, lonely Sir Pentious, had never questioned it.

Alastor

His stomach lurches. What did he say wrong? What pushed it over the line? He tries to deny it but all that squeezes out of his throat is static. After months spent trying to reassure Sir Pentious that he DOES value him, that he IS his friend, that he would NEVER betray him again... denying the accusation now would be too much a rejection of everything he's tried to prove.

He sinks down on a bench. He didn't say anything wrong. He said what Sir Pentious needed to hear him say. This was unavoidable.

He tries to give the same response he did to Valera—*no, I'm not; just with someone who looks the same*—but words catch in his throat as he suddenly realizes they're not true anymore. He knows this Sir Pentious too well to still see him the same as his own; but that's done nothing to break his fever. *Damn it.* He twists his hands together and stares down at them, defeated.

Just a few minutes ago, they were...

But Sir Pentious is never going to touch his hands like that again.

Sir Pentious

Of all the things Sir Pentious had expected to come out of this meeting, he couldn't have predicted that Alastor, the Radio Demon, was in love with him. This explained *everything...* Eager for friendship? Wanting so desperately to be around him, to not anger him, to spend as much time as possible?

Love was the *only* answer that made sense. Friendship was difficult enough with the serpent, but love! Oh, this was so much to process. He could only stare down at the deerman. For once, for *once* in his entire unlife, he'd never seen the other so *silent.* Unable to speak, unable to say a thing. Static choking up from his throat, and Sir Pentious found his hands at his own, remembering how it felt to be unable to speak. What to even feel? What could he feel?

Shouldn't he be laughing right now? Feeling so *powerful* for being the object of *Alastor's* affections? This should be making him feel unstoppable, but instead it felt like daggers plunged into his back, dragging down. Every breath wrung with *pain.* Sir Pentious' teeth grit, and he glared, flexing his talons out toward Alastor.

"I LET YOU *TOUCH* ME, I THOUGHT WE WERE *FRIENDSSS*, BUT YOU WERE JUSSSST USING ME, WEREN'T YOU!?" There it was--that hatred for himself bubbling up, paranoia clawing its way out of his throat, "YOU SSSSAY YOU WANTED TO BE MY FRIEND, BUT YOU WERE TRYING TO--  YOU JUSSSssT WANTED--" Wanted what? Alastor hadn't *lied,* he just hadn't been forthcoming. But here, Sir Pentious felt wave after wave of feelings that he couldn't describe. Why did he feel so *betrayed?* "FROM WHENCE DID IT **BEGIN???** HAVE YOU ALWAYSSS BEEN LUSssssTING AFTER ME!? I AM *ENGAGED*, ALASSSTOR!"

He was starting to be so cruel, and he could taste his own venom on his tongue now. Why did it matter this much?

Alastor

He can already see how this is going to end: with Sir Pentious throwing Alastor out of his afterlife completely; with Alastor alone again; with Alastor having merely been taunted for two months with the hope of getting back the best friend he's ever had, before being rewarded for his audacity in daring to think he'd found a cross-dimensional loophole around his rightful punishment for his betrayal.

He can save them both time by apologizing for inconveniencing Sir Pentious, walking out the door, and never coming back.

"I'm sorry." Start there. But he can't let go. (Isn't that the whole problem?) And he can't be the one to turn his back on Sir Pentious. If Sir Pentious throws him out, so be it—but this time, at least, it's going to be for the truth, not for what Alastor leaves Sir Pentious to assume. "For—for what little it's worth—lust never factored into it. And I never—I do—we *are* friends. I've never thought otherwise. I'm not trying to come between you and your fiancée. I've always—I've tried to let you take the lead, to... to decide when and how to touch—*because* we're friends, I—it was your right to set the limits."

Sir Pentious

*For what little it’s worth … we are friends.*

   These few words were enough to send stabs of agony through his chest, and Sir Pentious wasn’t much for subtlety. His eyes widened again, and he clutched at where his black heart ought to be. He shouldn’t be feeling enraged, betrayed at all! He shouldn’t be! *Penley, you idiot, what are you doing? So obsessed with yourself, you’re making this all about you, too. Looking for reasons to be alone again, aren’t you?*

   But it DID hurt. It *did* hurt. There was something here, something that hurt beyond all measure–if Alastor truly wanted to be his friend, if Alastor, of all damned sinners in this inferno of suffering, truly loved him… wasn’t that a lie? It wasn’t him that he loved, it was… a different man. The same man, but different.

   Rage wet his eyes, and he brought up a sleeve to wipe at them–*no*, do not *cry* in front of ~~*your enemies*~~ *anyone else* you damned old fool. Least of all The Radio Demon! Do you want to get laughed at???

              *He wouldn’t laugh at me. He is my friend.*

             *HE IS NOT* YOUR *FRIEND. YOU ARE A* SUBSTITUTE.

   With that wicked quickness the King Cobra is known for, Sir Pentious closes the gap between them, his hood flared out as he bares those yellow fangs of his, “DON’T **FUCK** WITH ME, YOU BASTARD! HOW COULD I SET LIMITS WHEN I THOUGHT ALL IT WAS WAS SSOMETHING WITHOUT SSSUCH FEELINGSSS INVOLVED!? THOUGHT YOU COULD GET A LAUGH OUT OF ME, THE LONELY INVENTOR!!! I WAS JUSSST A SSSSSUBSSSTITUTE FOR YOUR SSSSERPENT. IF YOU HADN’T **FUCKED THINGSSS UP** BACK THEN, THEN WE’D NEVER HAVE BECOME FRIENDSS!!!!”

   Oh, he was going for the jugular now. All of that pain was coming out now! And though he’d wiped his eyes, the tears brimming were unmistakable. Lonely Sir Pentious was crying.

Alastor

Alastor leans back when Sir Pentious looms over him, gripping the edge of the bench as he fights down the automatic instinct to defend himself.

*If you hadn't fucked things up*—He flinches like he was slapped. Sir Pentious is right. He's right, and Alastor knows it, and they're the same words he's told himself for the past fifty-four years; but they hurt so much more in that voice. They hurt so much more seeing the fury and pain and tears in Sir Pentious's eyes. The last time he saw Sir Pentious like that, it was among the ruins of his flagship, begging Alastor to explain why he'd just destroyed everything they'd worked for.

And yet, Sir Pentious is *wrong.* "You—think I've been laughing at you?!" He lets out a high, nervous, hysterical laugh—NO that is the EXACT WRONG PANIC REACTION for this situation—he claps a hand over his mouth with the sound of a radio dial firmly clicking off and just shakes his head *no* until he's sure he can control his voice.

"Maybe we wouldn't have met—and maybe you started out as a substitute for mine, but—you aren't now! I know you, not well enough, but well enough to see that the things I value in him *do* exist in you, and where you differ, I value you on your own merits! And if mine slithered in right this second, said all was forgiven, invited me onto his airship, and promised everything I've ever wanted—it would hurt to leave! I'd *miss* the picnics, sitting around watching ASMR videos, sparring with you, figuring out how to cook for you—even how you *breathe.*" He's digging himself the deepest grave Hell's ever seen. At least let Sir Pentious hate him for the right reasons.

Sir Pentious

That was most assuredly the worst possible panic reaction, and it would have ruined whatever it was Alastor was trying to do here–had he not continued. Sir Pentious stared, watching him explain himself, watching him dig a hole so deep he might as well have ended up in Heaven after all.

   Perhaps that hole would have made Penny hate him more, but instead… he felt his chest ache further, and he grabbed at his hood, *pulling* it *harshly* to compensate for the pain, to try to keep himself grounded. Alastor was listing off things about him, things that he and Al had done together. Things that were somehow special between the two of them.

   Picnics and silly little videos and making ridiculous jokes about things nobody else would care about nor have reference for. Alastor had been the closest in years for someone that Sir Pentious could have related to—he wanted so badly for that companionship, that *understanding* with another demon in Hell who *really understood him.* And now, more than ever, he really had it.

   Valera would often list things that Penny did, talked about how much she loved him. The way he is always making some kind of sound, his mannerisms for talking, the way he cares so deeply for her… Every time she’d do so, he could feel his chest swell with such love and passion. It was always too much for him to handle in those moments… words always failed him, he could think of naught to say except “Thank you”, which scraped the bare minimum of how he felt about her.

And Alastor… he had begun to do it, too. It was obvious now, to Sir Pentious, that Alastor had since stopped talking about things that likely *any* Genius Inventor Supervillain had done, and rather had began to talk *specifically* about him. It made him feel seen in ways only Valera had made him feel before.

        They *loved* him, and he *hated* himself.

             One hundred and fifty years of self loathing

        was having a difficult time combatting all of this **love.**

   Sir Pentious leaned back, and attempted to speak–he pointed a finger at Alastor, fangs bared as he prepared to let loose into another barrage of insults, of *cutting* words… only to find himself *unable* to speak.

   He tried again, and again, to no avail with each attempt. Here he was, forcibly speechless, as panic began to steal him away. His eyes widened further, and he began to scratch at his throat, *furiously ashamed* with this total failure he was showing himself to be. *How pitiful, Sir Pentious. And you wonder why █████ left you. You can never be counted on when you’re needed most.*

Alastor

It's a barbed wire-wrapped sword through his heart when Sir Pentious's expression of fury melts into panic and he starts clawing at his own throat.

"No, oh no." He automatically reaches up, grabs Sir Pentious's hands, and pulls them down. His hands feel like they're holding red hot irons.

"*I'm sorry.* I shouldn't touch you. But I'm not letting you hurt yourself on my account." It's the first time this whole conversation he's felt like he sounds like himself, albeit an unusually serious version of himself. "If you need someone to claw up, let it be me."

Acid blood, Sir Pentious had called it; brain-storms, they were called in Alastor's time—temporary bouts of madness brought on by distress too great for a rational human mind to endure. And Alastor is the one who pushed Sir Pentious into this one. His mind races as he tries to figure out how to fix his damage. (Stupid question. He doesn't fix it. He knows that. Didn't he himself tell Sir Pentious he's better at knocking things down than setting them back up? Didn't Sir Pentious call him a wrecking ball?)

Sir Pentious

They might as *well* have been red hot irons–Sir Pentious’ eyes were glowing brightly, wide as they were. At this proximity, Alastor would be able to feel the tremor running under that grip–He tried so hard to mask it, but he was trembling from the intensity of his emotions.

   Still, that *smile.* It wasn’t quite as strong as he knew Alastor was capable of, but the fact he could see it at all cut him to ribbons on the inside. Sir Pentious, in his haze of self loathing and fear of being a joke, took that smile as confirmation despite Alastor only saying the opposite. How many times must he say it before you *believe* him, Penny?

   So close now, and he could easily pull away–but instead, he sought to cause pain. This was his way of coping, and he always managed to hurt the ones he cared about. Why should now be any different? He had bitten Valera when he was like a feral beast, and here he would tear Alastor apart in just the way he wanted. After all, he *offered.*

   His hood flaring out and a monstrous *hiss* escaping his throat, Sir Pentious lunged his head forward, burying his fangs into the base of Alastor’s neck, right where it met the shoulder. He easily penetrated the flesh, sinking in to the gums as his eyes carried *madness.*  Not only had he bitten him, but it was the same place he’d bitten him before, two months ago.

Alastor

He gasps in with an awful feedback noise, pain shooting across his neck and over his shoulder. On some level, he isn't surprised. On some level, he realizes, he was hoping for this.

He doesn't know if Sir Pentious intends it as his forgiveness, his penance, or his punishment.

And between the pain and the uncertainty and the knowledge that even though it's agony he's still not worthy of it—he finally breaks. He bursts into noisy, crackling sobs, his voice hardly audible under the distortion, shaking so hard he might not be able to sit up if Sir Pentious himself wasn't inadvertently holding him up by the shoulder.

"I'm sorry!" He clings desperately to Sir Pentious, he can't stop himself. He's talking fast, words spilling out, trying to get it all out before Sir Pentious stops listening to him for good. "*I'm sorry.* I know you hate how I feel, I hate it too. I'd shut it off if I could! It's why I ruined everything and *ran*, because I'm a *coward* and I was *afraid* of what love would make me—I was afraid of being *this.* I'm sorry you have to put up with it too!"

One hand curls clawlike into Sir Pentious's lapels to pull him closer and his fangs deeper. This is going to be the last time. He has to make it hurt. "I wish it—I *wish* it could have been something good for you. I'd fantasized about confessing someday—when you needed proof of my loyalty, I could have made some—some grand gesture—"here, here's your proof, here's how you know I'll never betray you!" Even if you don't reciprocate, I'd hoped you could—could draw strength from it! Here's one more person who esteems you so highly! Here's one more more person who would give you Heaven and Hell! Here's one more person who would do anything to see you happy and triumphant! But I can't even do that much for you, I—I'm so *sorry*—"

He can't get any more out. His last few words break up like a signal in a tunnel, and all he's left with is wordless sobbing and shaking.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious had a chance now, to spill his venom into Alastor. He had a chance to watch him *writhe* in physical agony to match the swirling intensity that the serpent felt inside. But it was clear, from the way the deerman broke so suddenly in his jaws, that Penny realized there was no need.

   Alastor was *shattered* in a way that Penny had never, ever seen him. Never heard him. This man, who carried himself with such superiority and class, now a broken, sobbing ruin of a demon clung to the hellish gentleman’s body. He wasn’t goading him, he wasn’t boasting. He wasn’t destroying everything he’d built only to run off or laugh in his face.

   He was just… miserable. And it was misery that Sir Pentious could not enjoy… it reminded him of his own wretched wailing when Valera had been there to hold him, too. Suddenly, Alastor stopped being The Radio Demon to Sir Pentious, and had become something else.

      *Al. My best friend. You’re not so bad, you old bastard.*

   But he wasn’t in the right mind to forgive him, just yet. Forgiveness… what a laughable thing for a *demon* to consider. He pulled his teeth from Alastor’s neck, staring him hard in the face as tears of his own ran down his cheeks. That horrid smile of Alastor’s, twisted with intense sadness…

   “Ssstop *sssmiling*, you imbecile.”

   He brings his hands up, grabbing at Alastor’s face with both of them, and *forcing* the corners of that mad grin down, to the best of his ability, even if his talons pinched that face. Once he was done with that, he’d return the hug, tightly, his tail slowly wrapping up the other as the most grounding thing he could think of. Emotional intimacy was not his strong suit, but Valera had taught him some things, too.

   “… JUSSST… BREATHE… AT THE SAME TIME AS ME. FOLLOW *MY* LEAD.”

Alastor

He can't meet Sir Pentious's gaze; he squeezes his eyes shut automatically. And immediately opens them again when Sir Pentious touches his face. He's distantly surprised to be told he *is* still smiling. He can't feel it at all. The crumbling remains of his smile collapse effortlessly under Sir Pentious's hands and he bites his lower lip, the corners of his mouth twitching like he doesn't know what to do with them when they aren't twisted up.

Why is he being *held*? He doesn't deserve this. But he leans into it, eyes shutting again, face pressed to Sir Pentious's shoulder, arms wrapped tight around his back. He can feel Sir Pentious's chest rising and falling with each breath—it's the most reassuring feeling, the most reassuring sound in the world. He can breathe. He can do that.

His shuddering reduces, his sobs slowly stop. He isn't sure if he's still crying or if it's just the old tears clinging to his face. But he's breathing. And he's—god, how did this happen?—he's exactly where he's wanted to be for the last fifty-four years.

He croaks, "If you're planning to exterminate me, please make it now." Cue the world's tinniest laugh track.

Sir Pentious

Satan himself, it actually worked. He managed to… calm Alastor down. He’d done exactly what Valera had done for him before, and… well, he sold himself short, now didn’t he? He’d calmed down Valera before, too. Maybe he didn’t destroy everything he touched. Maybe… he was good at maintaining his relationships, after all. Why, these two thought he was good enough to willingly be around, so… maybe he could give himself a chance, too.

    The love aspect that was added on… Pentious still wasn’t sure what to do with that. Could he handle knowing that Alastor loved him? That every action between the two of them had this tension? Or would it only have tension if he allowed it to? Sir Pentious bumped his forehead to Alastor’s, a little rougher than usual to at least show he was irritated…

    “YOU ARE OFF THE AIR. GIVE YOURSSSELF A BREAK.”

    He adjusts the deerman’s monocle, and straightens up his suit, before he reaches into his own suit jacket and pulls out a handkerchief. Penny moves to undo the neck portion of Alastor’s suit, so that he could place the handkerchief inside and on his shoulder–but he stops himself, instead just handing him the cloth.

    “…I AM ANGRY WITH YOU. I AM FRUSSSTRATED AND I DO NOT KNOW WHEN I WILL FEEL ABLE TO BE COMFORTABLE WITH YOU AGAIN. BUT I WILL WANT THISSSS HANDKERCHIEF BACK, DO YOU UNDERSSSTAND? SSSSO. DO NOT RUN AWAY FROM ME, ALASSSTOR. I WILL NEVER TALK TO YOU AGAIN IF YOU EVEN *THINK* ABOUT RUNNING AWAY FROM ME.”

    His own voice was hoarse, despite how loud it was, and he was clearly tired from crying and shouting. Sir Pentious looked thoroughly tired, as if he had been drinking and yet he’d had not a drop. Emotionally drained, and all out of spoons.

Alastor

Alastor is more than capable of tidying himself up, and under any other circumstances he *would,* irritably pushing off whoever dared try to fuss over him—but it's such a shock that *Sir Pentious* is doing it, and it's so *nice*, he just stands there in stunned silence, letting him.

He numbly takes the handkerchief, and for a moment stares blankly at it before figuring out what it's for. He quickly undoes his bow tie—his fingers twitch when he remembers whose it is—and then hastily undoes his collar and slides the handkerchief under.

"I can send it back this evening after I launder it." His voice is filtered through a radio again—Sir Pentious is wrong, he's *always* on air—with the crackles and pops like an old phonogram record complimenting the hoarseness of his own voice. He looks down to avoid meeting Sir Pentious's gaze, realizes that doesn't solve the problem, and glances to the side. "If you're trying to use the handkerchief to say that you see this ending some way other than never wanting to speak to me again... then be more direct."

A few members of the invisible studio audience weakly chuckle. Alastor waves them off with his free hand, muttering, "Shut *up,* not the time," then winces as the gesture makes his shoulder sting.

Sir Pentious

Ah, he was called out. It gets a frustrated look out of him, but… you know. That’s exactly the kind of thing he’d have said to Alastor, before. Sir Pentious folds his arms, flinching a little as the pain from having scratched at himself reminds him that it is still present.

    “… I DON’T WANT YOU TO RUN AWAY FROM ME, BECAUSE I WANT TO SSSEE YOU AGAIN, ON MY TERMSSS. BUT IF I SSEE YOU TOO SSOON… I MIGHT HATE YOU FOREVER.”

    A deep inhale, and slow exhale. Sir Pentious slowly unravels his tail from around the other demon, though it remains behind him in case he cannot stand on his own, “… I REQUIRE TIME TO PROCESS THISS, ALASSSTOR. PERHAPSS YOU ARE RIGHT, THAT I SHOULD NEVER WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOU EVER AGAIN. BY ALL ACCOUNTSS, I OUGHT TO AGREE WITH THAT AND NEVER SSSPEAK TO YOU AGAIN!”

    His tail lashes with some irritability, and now it’s his turn to avoid any kind of eye contact. “… But. I sstill want to. I do not want you to leave. I have… *fun* when you are around. The kind of fun that I never had before… Because. I do not have friends. There are very few people who would want to be around me.”  Blast it he was rambling on again. He covers his face with a hand, grimacing as all he can taste on his tongue is Alastor’s blood. It made him dizzy with misery. “I will be on Okkylk. When I am ready to take back the handkerchief, I will pick it up in *person.*”

Alastor

He listens to the half-threats as stoically as he can with his smile missing—he feels naked and raw and exposed—and he fears that with his face twitching after every sentence, it's not nearly as stoic as he'd like to think.

His heart nearly leaps into his throat when Sir Pentious says he wants Alastor to stay—then plummets back down. It's not because it's Alastor's friendship, specifically, that he values; it's because he needs anyone's friendship, and Alastor's the one offering it. Piss-poor and putrid though it is. He already knew that, didn't he? Hadn't he said to Valera that Sir Pentious doesn't like Alastor—he just likes that Alastor likes him? He wishes he could bring anything more to the table than this desperate last resort friendship—but he shot any chances of that in the head decades ago.

He nods wearily. "You know where to find me. You won't hear a peep out of me until you come calling, barring emergencies—overheard assassination plots or the like."

Sir Pentious

How they hated themselves. If he'd known that Alastor had come to that conclusion, well... maybe he'd have said something else. But as it stood, right now, Sir Pentious was beyond exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to wrap himself up in his fiancee, to breathe her in and feel some form of comfort after all of *this*...

    It wasn't fair to think of it that way, he knew that Alastor was suffering, but what could he do? His cup was empty, and he could not pour from it. His eyes looked back up to see that pitiful expression, and... he gestured with his index talon--a smiley face. "... YOU CAN SSMILE AGAIN, ALASSTOR. YOU'RE NOT DRESSED WITHOUT IT." Ha...ha. Ha. He immediately looks like he regrets the sentence before he turns, and begins to slither back through the piping.

    How he hated himself, but they loved him.

Alastor

He attempts a smile. He fails. He isn't surprised. He almost responds "*No, I can't,*" but Sir Pentious is dealing with enough of Alastor's personal problems. He doesn't need another.

He watches Sir Pentious go; pulls the bow tie out from around his collar, drops it on the workbench beside the travel mug; and then melts into the shadows.