#my ledger has been cleared

[queer-boo-radley]

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anothology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist | cw: oral (reader receiving)

Part Ten: Permission

A/N: We're SO back!

You’ve never been so happy to work an extra day.

Johnny gets the shop to himself on Sundays for walk-ins. Usually, he mans the shop by himself but you need to record the cash income from the convention in the ledger. Sure, you could do that during your usual hours the upcoming Wednesday and catch up on sleep, but you have too much nervous energy coursing through you. If you were home you would just be stewing on your couch the hole day and probably spiral into a panic attack. At least here, with a task and Johnny yapping in your ear, you don’t have to think about the fact that you made out with your boss too much.

Fuck. You really did that. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You woke up in a cold sweat, fingers brushing over your lips as you tried to decipher if it was real or dreamed. If you really kissed John, if he really held a hand on your lower back as he walked you home, if he really gave you a second, light peck before saying goodnight. The itch of his beard lingers, as well as the warmth where his hands cupped your face. It felt so good. So fucking good.

Then the context settles in. The fact that you kissed your boss makes you want to throw up - not for any dislike of it, just the fact that your job is now in limbo. Hanging in the balance until you can talk to him on Wednesday. At least you can take the next couple days to collect your thoughts - come up with a good apology that will hopefully let you keep your job and some semblance of dignity. Somehow make sense of the fact that you’ve kissed John and Kyle and surely when they find out they’ll think you’re a floosy. Loose and easy and pathetic and gross. You couldn’t quite meet your own eye in the mirror as you tried to get ready for the day.

The current, formerly “Future You” is not very happy with the now Past You. Frankly, you’d like to deck her for leaving you in this state of a permanent heart attack.

“Och, I’m about tae melt.” Johnny mutters, appearing from his room and stretching. His shirt rides up, exposing a thick happy trail that does not help you in your current spiral.

You just hum, gluing your eyes to the physical spreadsheet in front of you as you go through the sales from the convention. Numbers will clear your head. Yeah, nothing less sexy or more distracting than trying to do math with pen, paper and a TI-84 calculator.

“We should go get some ice cream.” Johnny leans over behind you, causing you to jump. Large hands settle on your shoulders as he rests his chin on the top of your head. At least Johnny is always touchy, you don’t have to read into it. You don’t think you could handle reading into it right now.

“Uh, yeah, okay.” You murmur, letting him lead you out of the office and flipping the out for lunch sign. You’ve been so lost in your head the entire day that you can’t fully pull yourself out of it - the same spiral of fears and self-degradation swirling around in your mind. A Cat 5 tornado of your own making. So stupid.

Johnny intertwines your fingers as you make your way down the street. Your hands swing lightly as you walk. Even with the heat, it doesn’t feel like too much. You’re not sure what it is - of you’re just comfortable or if Johnny just has something about him that makes touch feel perfectly natural - but it’s never overwhelming. Even when he’s hanging off you like a leech, it’s just Johnny. He doesn’t make you talk, doesn’t pry into why you’re so spaced out. He probably just thinks you’re tired. You are tired. So tired.

You don’t realize Johnny is saying something until he gently elbows your side. “Huh?”

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks with a concerned furrow in his brow.

“Oh, uh, I can get my own-“

”My treat.” He shakes his head, batting away the hand pulling your wallet out of your back pocket. You have no choice but to give in to him - there isn’t any point in arguing with Johnny.

“Thanks for suggesting this.” You murmur, as you sit at one of the wooden, outdoor tables in front of the shop a couple blocks down from the tattoo parlor. The tables are covered in the shade of trees and an awning, luckily, keeping the sun from beating down on you. It doesn’t stop your ice cream from melting nearly faster than you can eat it, but you don’t have the heart to complain after Johnny took you out and bought it for you.

“Aye. Seemed like ye needed some cheerin’ up. Never seen ye so sullen.” Johnny comments, casually stuffing a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. His eyes are sympathetic, though.

“Oh.” You thought you’d been doing alright at hiding it - came into the shop with a jokes and everything this morning. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much Johnny actually notices between all his volume and energy.

“Gonnae tell me about it?”

“No.”

“Might help.”

You shake your head. “I- I’m- I can’t.”

“Okay.” He smiles gently, giving you a once over. His eyes are so sharp. The others do it too - take your body language in piece by piece. It doesn’t burn like when Johnny does it, though. His gaze is consuming, even when soft.

He seems to let you off the hook, though. It’s impossible to know how much he does or doesn’t know - how much any of them know. It puts you on edge, the inability to ask. After all, to ask is to admit. If you admit to it, you might lose it all. Fuck why did you kiss John? Kyle you can explain away - just a fun little bet. You’re close in age, he’s pretty, you’re together a lot, you get along. Nothing to it - even if it feels like there was. Even if it feels like every time you’re near him you’re going to melt and the air gets too thick and all you want is to pull him to the back room one more time.

John… John you can’t justify like that. He’s your boss. He’s over a decade older than you. Easily. He’s been so good to you but that’s not an excuse - it’s not right. You’re jeopardizing his place in his community. You’re jeopardizing your job. The best job you’ve ever had. The best friends you’ve ever had.

You can feel Johnny glancing at you as you walk, your eyes square on the ground and fists clenched anxiously. The heat outside only makes your head spin faster. Your cheeks feel feverishly hot. The ice cream almost curdles in your gut. Everything is too loud, too hot, too heavy.

You glance up at the clock. The day’s almost over - there probably won’t be more than one or two people that file in at most. You’ve finished with your work, currently just cross hatching on a sticky note in an attempt to calm your frayed nerves. It hasn’t worked. You need a distraction. A real, proper distraction.

“Johnny.” You snap, standing in the door way to his workroom.

“Hm?” He looks up, thick brows raised.

“I want a piercing.”

He cocks his head, taking you in from head to toe. “Aye?”

“If you have time.”

“I’ve always got time fer ye.” He grins.

You almost roll your eyes, but you’re too raw at the edges to really care about his usual flirting. There’s too much weighing on your mind - too much real anxiety knotting itself around your synapses and crushing them in it’s hold. The pain will help. It’ll ground you - sharpen your senses. You can focus on taking care of it for the next couple days between sleeping the days away until Wednesday. Until you can get this shit over with.

The only answer is to quit, right?

That’s your only option.

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks.

You shrug. “What’d you think?”

He taps his chin, eyes slowly making their way over your body. You wonder if he can see how tense you are - body so locked up your joints ache and your jaw throbs. It’s a wonder your teeth are still there with how much you’ve been grinding them.

“How about a navel?”

“Okay.” You agree too quickly, flopping back on the pairing table. You focus in on a water mark on the ceiling above while Johnny digs through his tool cabinet, laying everything neatly on a small rolling tray.

Johnny stops above you. You don’t even turn your head to look, fists clenching and unclenching.

You’ll have to quit.

That’s your only choice. No reference calls, no contact. Will Simon hate you? Will they all? Will they talk about why you up and left? Will they show up at your apartment to demand an answer? No. You don’t mean that much - only a blip on the timeline of their shop. The corners of your eyes burn.

Johnny’s fingers skate over your soft middle, barely touching as he passes over the button of your jeans. He pauses, glancing down at you. “Bonnie?”

“Yeah?” You reply a little too harshly.

Johnny leans over you, hands on either side of your head, blue eyes burning through your skull. He blocks out the light above. “Yer doin’ this because ye want to, yeah? Not to punish yerself?”

You shrink into the table, hackles raising. It really is so easy to forget that Johnny is an observant bastard. Loud, brash, but he still sees everything. Like how he learned your coffee order by heart without you ever even saying it to him or having it written on the cup. He absorbs things, files it away, keeps it close to his chest and hides it behind his blunt, brash daily manners. You’ll miss him.

“I- yeah, I’m fine.” You wince internally at the shake in your voice.

“Y’know, we all love ye.” Johnny murmurs.

You huff, eyes darting anywhere to get away from his. Laying on the table suddenly feels slightly trapping. You can’t get your gaze fully away from where he stands over you - so close as his thick arms cage you in. “Guess so.”

“An’ there’s nothin’ tae feel guilty or bad about.”

Your eyes snap to his face, wide and worried. Does he know? Was he told? Do you ask? If you ask, you’ll be admitting to it. If you ask, then he will know for sure. If you ask, you might ruin it all. “I don’t-“

“Ye do.” He cuts you off. “An’ ye have permission, even if ye dinnae need it. It’s okay. Ye havennae done anythin’ wrong.”

You stare, mouth opening and closing lamely. Johnny. Straight forward, loud mouth, unsubtle Johnny. Fuck, you love him for it. Doesn’t dance around what he means. Doesn’t avoid what needs to be said - from his end, at least.

“Did- did you talk to-?” You stutter, struggling between needing to know and fear to admit the truth so blatantly. Even if he obviously knows something.

“Not really. Not my business.” Johnny shrugs casually.

Not his business. So they persue separately, you think. That makes sense. Probably. It’s probably wrong to make assumptions about the dynamic, about the implication that they have some sort of free for all. Then again, you don’t really know anything about their interpersonal workings much. They live together, they’re touchy. The dynamic is a mystery to you - only adding to the piles of confusion.

“Yer thinkin’ tae hard about it.” He pokes the furrow between your brows.

Oh. Is that it? You’re overthinking? No, adults talk about these things. You don’t understand the interpersonal workings here at all. Are they together? Do they just do this? Pull girls in and push them around until they get tired? That feels too cruel for them. They’ve taken such good care of you…

“I still… want to talk.” You murmur, cheeks warm.

His face softens, a light smile tugging at his lips. “An’ ye will. Kyle’s been damn near loosin’ it with ye avoiding him.”

“I’m not avoiding him!” You snap far too defensively.

“Sure ye aren’t.” Johnny shrugs, as if to tell you he knows that’s bull. Not his business, though, he said. “Just… donnae be so scared of us, aye? We’ve got yer back.”

Your shoulders drop, sore from being tensed for the entire day. “Okay.”

“Still want tae get peirced?”

You nod, chest far less tight. As though you finally let go of a breath you had been holding the entire day. “Sure, why not.”

Your shoulders slump as Johnny makes his way through the usual song and dance - showing you the freshly cleaned tools and marking the spot for the needle. Somehow the world seems… quieter. As if all the chatter in your mind had been just as deafening to your physical ears. It’s tiring. That same sting behind your eyes that you get after a long night out. Your defenses are down, and your body is finally at rest.

“Ow!” You gasp, lifting your head to meet Johnny’s impish grin with a glare. “A little warning next time!”

“Tha’s what happens when ye donnae listen.” He teases, slipping the jewelry through. “She’s cute.”

You snort. “She better be. Y’know I should tell John on you for improper conduct.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Aye, ye an’ Price know plenty about improper conduct.”

There’s no malice in the comment, or in the grin he settles on you. For once, you don’t freeze up. Don’t send yourself into a panic spiral over what he knows or thinks or feels. Johnny made himself clear. Instead you land a light smack against his arm and huff in embarrassment.

“Stand f’me.” Johnny murmurs after cleaning the piercing, a heat in his eyes that you can’t quite gauge the source of.

You do as you’re told, slipping off the table. You have to hook a finger into the waistband of your jeans to keep them up, cheeks hot as you realize how much is actually exposed with the fully undone fly. You glance up at a far too pleased Johnny. Didn’t even say a word, the mischievous bastard.

He drops to his knees in front of you. Your brows shoot damn near into the sky. Johnny mumbles something about making sure the piercing is sitting right. You roll with it, knowing he’s probably just saying whatever to get you to keep your pants undone a little longer. Your breath quickens as a large, warm hand flattens itself over your soft belly, unabashedly groping. Not that you mind, really, even if it does make your face so hot it might melt.

Your heart almost breaks out of your rib cage when he places a small kiss next to the piercing. His hand lowers, resting beside yours on the waistband of your jeans.

“May I?” Johnny murmurs, big blue eyes blinking up at you.

You have permission.

You don’t need permission.

You have it, though.

“Yeah.” You gasp, shivering at the cold air on your skin as Johnny pulls your pants halfway down your thighs.

“Pretty, pretty lass.” He murmurs, nipping at the softness of your belly and down to your thigh. “Look at ye.”

“Flatterer.” You scoff, attempting to let the tension melt off your shoulders with the usual snide remarks you slide each others way.

“M’just honest…” Johnny mumbles absently, fingers catching in the hems of your underwear. “Ye always walkin’ around in somethin’ this skintie?”

For a moment, your brows knit in confusion. That is until he pulls back and snaps the string of your thong against your hip. Your face somehow gets even hotter and you grumble out a poor excuse of, “S’laundry day…”

Your hips twitch as he traces between your lips through the cloth. So uncharacteristically slow and methodical for Johnny as he feels you, like he’s trying to memorize it. A shamefully harsh jolt runs up your spine as he presses just slightly into your clit.

“Sensitive little thing.” Johnny grins up at you. You swear the devil has a less delinquent grin.

“It’s been a while.” You shrug, aiming once again for casual and missing by a mile.

His grin only grows, eyes bright and hungry. “Let’s get these off.”

You shimmy your hips a bit to help him get both your underwear and jeans completely down. A wave of shyness overtakes you as it settles in that you’re utterly exposed to Johnny, your friend and coworker, in the middle of your workplace just as the sun has begun to edge down close to the horizon. It’s almost too much, and you almost yank your pants back on with a stammered, fake excuse, but Johnny soothes his hands up your thighs, gaze locked onto your pussy like it’s the only thing that exists and yeah… you want that.

You have permission.

“There she is.” He cups you gently, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit just hard enough to make you gasp.

Before you can say or do anything his hand retracts and Johnny settles you with the most serious look you’ve ever seen from him. It looks wrong, almost, on that face that’s supposed to have a permanent ear to ear grin.

“If ye want tae stop, I need ye tae tell me now.”

“No.” The word leaves you before you can even register the thought - desperate and breathy.

It earns a low chuckle. The only warning you get before Johnny licks a long stripe up between your lips, letting his tongue rest on your clit for just a moment before repeating the motion as though he’s not just eating you out but truly trying to truly get a taste for you. To memorize you as he drinks you in.

“Should let me give you a Christina…” He murmurs, pulling back to look at you.

“Ah, wha-“

“Look so pretty on this fat little cunt.” Johnny gives you a light smack for good measure, grinning at the visible jolt that travels up your spine before diving back in. He hooks a leg over his shoulder, leaving you balancing on your tip toes with your hands flat on the table behind you. It’s precarious and with absolutely no room to escape the attention he’s lavishing on you. It’s almost desperate, the way he moves. The way he devours. A man utterly starved.

“Fuck-“ you gasp as his tongue piercing catches your clit. Rough hands knead at the softness of your thighs and hips, urging you to press into him, to take as much as he’s giving.

“Tha’s it, ride m’face…” Your fingers lock into his mohawk and Johnny’s slurred words become the most pornographic moan you think you’ve ever heard. He practically goes limp - body relaxed and pliant while you grind down onto his tongue.

You tilt your head forward, risking looking down only to meet those big blue eyes staring up at you with all the intensity of the sun. A shaky moan passes your lips and his eyes flutter.

“J-Johnny-” The whine of his name only spurs him on - has him pressing his tongue so deep inside you and drinking you in full.

If he has any complaints about the way your heel digs between his shoulder blades as you unconsciously pull him closer, he doesn’t make it known. His nails rake over your ass, biting and stinging in contrast to everything else. It’s so much. Heat continues to pool at the base of your spine - babbling words, please and moans spill messily from your lips.

Your climax catches you off guard as Johnny sucks harshly at your clit; lighting your body aflame with only his mouth. Every muscle inside you tenses and the sounds you let out can only be described as strangled whines.

You have to yank a little at Johnny’s hair to get him to stop when the overstimulation reaches just the wrong side of too much; he’s well and truly lost in the moment. It fuels your ego to dangerous heights - the idea that this gorgeous man became that intoxicated just from your pussy.

There isn’t even time to say anything before Johnny is standing and connecting his lips with yours. You taste yourself on his tongue, his lips - somehow this is the first time you’ve found that pleasant. With heavy breaths you watch him wipe around his mouth his his palm, only to exaggeratedly lick and clean what’s left off his hand. Fucking sinful.

“Nasty man.” You sigh, too blissed out to be truly critical. Johnny winks and you roll your eyes.

“S’about quittin’ time.” He says, tilting his head to look up at you through thick lashes. “Should get ye home.”

You frown, still trying to come back to earth as you glance down. “Don’t- do you want-?”

He looks you over, your mouth goes dry as his hand drops from your hip to adjust himself. The implications of the outline through his thick denim has your head reeling and your breath quickening. Johnny chuckles at you, surely seeing it written plain across your face. You might as well start drooling and panting like a dog.

He buries his nose into the crook of your neck to nip at your skin. “Another time. Want tae savor ye.”

You shiver, unable to stop the smile that quirks up the corners of your lips. You have permission. You don’t need it, but you have it.

A/N: Sorry if this is a little rough, I'm getting back into the swing of things. It's finally time for things to get fun, tho ;)

Also please give some love to this AMAZING fanart from @eurydicescurse

[amateurvoltaire]

For the past six years or so, this graph has been making its rounds on social media, always reappearing at conveniently timed moments…

The insinuation is loud and clear: parallels abound between 18th-century France and 21st-century USA. Cue the alarm bells—revolution is imminent! The 10% should panic, and ordinary folk should stock up on non-perishables and, of course, toilet paper, because it wouldn’t be a proper crisis without that particular frenzy. You know the drill.

Well, unfortunately, I have zero interest in commenting on the political implications or the parallels this graph is trying to make with today’s world. I have precisely zero interest in discussing modern-day politics here. And I also have zero interest in addressing the bottom graph.

This is not going to be one of those "the [insert random group of people] à la lanterne” (1) kind of posts.  If you’re here for that, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.

What I am interested in is something much less click-worthy but far more useful: how historical data gets used and abused and why the illusion of historical parallels can be so seductive—and so misleading. It’s not glamorous, I’ll admit, but digging into this stuff teaches us a lot more than mindless rage.

So, let’s get into it. Step by step, we’ll examine the top graph, unpick its assumptions, and see whether its alarmist undertones hold any historical weight.

Step 1: Actually Look at the Picture and Use Your Brain

When I saw this graph, my first thought was, “That’s odd.” Not because it’s hard to believe the top 10% in 18th-century France controlled 60% of the wealth—that could very well be true. But because, in 15 years of studying the French Revolution, I’ve never encountered reliable data on wealth distribution from that period.

Why? Because to the best of my knowledge, no one was systematically tracking income or wealth across the population in the 18th century. There were no comprehensive records, no centralised statistics, and certainly no detailed breakdowns of who owned what across different classes. Graphs like this imply data, and data means either someone tracked it or someone made assumptions to reconstruct it. That’s not inherently bad,  but it did get my spider senses tingling.

Then there’s the timeframe: 1760–1790. Thirty years is a long time— especially when discussing a period that included wars, failed financial policies, growing debt, and shifting social dynamics. Wealth distribution wouldn’t have stayed static during that time. Nobles who were at the top in 1760 could be destitute by 1790, while merchants starting out in 1760 could be climbing into the upper tiers by the end of the period. Economic mobility wasn’t common, but over three decades, it wasn’t unheard of either.

All of this raises questions about how this graph was created. Where’s the data coming from? How was it measured? And can we really trust it to represent such a complex period?

Step 2: Check the Fine Print

Since the graph seemed questionable, the obvious next step was to ask: Where does this thing come from? Luckily, the source is clearly cited at the bottom: “The Income Inequality of France in Historical Perspective” by Christian Morrisson and Wayne Snyder, published in the European Review of Economic History, Vol. 4, No. 1 (2000).

Great! A proper academic source. But, before diving into the article, there’s a crucial detail tucked into the fine print:

“Data for the bottom 40% in France is extrapolated given a single data point.”

What does that mean?

Extrapolation is a statistical method used to estimate unknown values by extending patterns or trends from a small sample of data. In this case, the graph’s creator used one single piece of data—one solitary data point—about the wealth of the bottom 40% of the French population. They then scaled or applied that one value to represent the entire group across the 30-year period (1760–1790).

Put simply, this means someone found one record—maybe a tax ledger, an income statement, or some financial data—pertaining to one specific year, region, or subset of the bottom 40%, and decided it was representative of the entire demographic for three decades.

Let’s be honest: you don’t need a degree in statistics to know that’s problematic. Using a single data point to make sweeping generalisations about a large, diverse population (let alone across an era of wars, famines, and economic shifts) is a massive leap. In fact, it’s about as reliable as guessing how the internet feels about a topic from a single tweet.

This immediately tells me that whatever numbers they claim for the bottom 40% of the population are, at best, speculative. At worst? Utterly meaningless.

It also raises another question: What kind of serious journal would let something like this slide? So, time to pull up the actual article and see what’s going on.

Step 3: Check the Sources

As I mentioned earlier, the source for this graph is conveniently listed at the bottom of the image. Three clicks later, I had downloaded the actual article: “The Income Inequality of France in Historical Perspective” by Morrisson and Snyder.

The first thing I noticed while skimming through the article? The graph itself is nowhere to be found in the publication.

This is important. It means the person who created the graph didn’t just lift it straight from the article—they derived it from the data in the publication. Now, that’s not necessarily a problem; secondary analysis of published data is common. But here’s the kicker: there’s no explanation in the screenshot of the graph about which dataset or calculations were used to make it. We’re left to guess.

So, to figure this out, I guess I’ll have to dive into the article itself, trying to identify where they might have pulled the numbers from. Translation: I signed myself up to read 20+ pages of economic history. Thrilling stuff.

But hey, someone has to do it. The things I endure to fight disinformation...

Step 4: Actually Assess the Sources Critically

It doesn’t take long, once you start reading the article, to realise that regardless of what the graph is based on, it’s bound to be somewhat unreliable. Right from the first paragraph, the authors of the paper point out the core issue with calculating income for 18th-century French households: THERE IS NO DATA.

The article is refreshingly honest about this. It states multiple times that there were no reliable income distribution estimates in France before World War II. To fill this gap, Morrisson and Snyder used a variety of proxy sources like the Capitation Tax Records (2), historical socio-professional tables, and Isnard’s income distribution estimates (3).

After reading the whole paper, I can say their methodology is intriguing and very reasonable. They’ve pieced together what they could by using available evidence, and their process is quite well thought-out. I won’t rehash their entire argument here, but if you’re curious, I’d genuinely recommend giving it a read.

Most importantly, the authors are painfully aware of the limitations of their approach. They make it very clear that their estimates are a form of educated guesswork—evidence-based, yes, but still guesswork.   At no point do they overstate their findings or present their conclusions as definitive

As such,  instead of concluding with a single, definitive version of the income distribution, they offer multiple possible scenarios.

It’s not as flashy as a bold, tidy graph, is it? But it’s far more honest—and far more reflective of the complexities involved in reconstructing historical economic data.

Step 5: Run the numbers

Now that we’ve established the authors of the paper don’t actually propose a definitive income distribution, the question remains: where did the creators of the graph get their data? More specifically, which of the proposed distributions did they use?

Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to locate the original article or post containing the graph. Admittedly, I haven’t tried very hard, but the first few pages of Google results just link back to Twitter, Reddit, Facebook, and Tumblr posts. In short, all I have to go on is this screenshot.

I’ll give the graph creators the benefit of the doubt and assume that, in the full article, they explain where they sourced their data. I really hope they do—because they absolutely should.

That being said, based on the information in Morrisson and Snyder’s paper, I’d make an educated guess that the data came from Table 6 or Table 10, as these are the sections where the authors attempt to provide income distribution estimates.

Now, which dataset does the graph use? Spoiler: None of them.

How can we tell? Since I don’t have access to the raw data or the article where this graph might have been originally posted, I resorted to a rather unscientific method: I used a graphical design program to divide each bar of the chart into 2.5% increments and measure the approximate percentage for each income group.

Here’s what I found:

Now, take a moment to spot the issue. Do you see it?

The problem is glaring: NONE of the datasets from the paper fit the graph. Granted, my measurements are just estimates, so there might be some rounding errors. But the discrepancies are impossible to ignore, particularly for the bottom 40% and the top 10%.

In Morrisson and Snyder’s paper, the lowest estimate for the bottom 40% (1st and 2nd quintiles) is 10%. Even if we use the most conservative proxy, the Capitation Tax estimate, it’s 9%. But the graph claims the bottom 40% held only 6%.

For the top 10% (10th decile), the highest estimate in the paper is 53%. Yet the graph inflates this to 60%.

Step 6: For fun, I made my own bar charts

Because I enjoy this sort of thing (yes, this is what I consider fun—I’m a very fun person), I decided to use the data from the paper to create my own bar charts. Here’s what came out:

What do you notice?

While the results don’t exactly scream “healthy economy,” they look much less dramatic than the graph we started with. The creators of the graph have clearly exaggerated the disparities, making inequality seem worse.

Step 7: Understand the context before drawing conclusions

Numbers, by themselves, mean nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I could tell you right now that 47% of people admit to arguing with inanimate objects when they don’t work, with printers being the most common offender, and you’d probably believe it. Why? Because it sounds plausible—printers are frustrating, I’ve used a percentage, and I’ve phrased it in a way that sounds “academic.”

You likely wouldn’t even pause to consider that I’m claiming 3.8 billion people argue with inanimate objects. And let’s be real: 3.8 billion is such an incomprehensibly large number that our brains tend to gloss over it.

If, instead, I said, “Half of your friends probably argue with their printers,” you might stop and think, “Wait, that seems a bit unlikely.” (For the record, I completely made that up—I have no clue how many people yell at their stoves or complain to their toasters.)

The point? Numbers mean nothing unless we put them into context.

The original paper does this well by contextualising its estimates, primarily through the calculation of the Gini coefficient (4).

The authors estimate France’s Gini coefficient in the late 18th century to be 0.59, indicating significant income inequality. However, they compare this figure to other regions and periods to provide a clearer picture:

Amsterdam (1742): Much higher inequality, with a Gini of 0.69.

Britain (1759): Lower inequality, with a Gini of 0.52, which rose to 0.59 by 1801.

Prussia (mid-19th century): Far less inequality, with a Gini of 0.34–0.36.

This comparison shows that income inequality wasn’t unique to France. Other regions experienced similar or even higher levels of inequality without spontaneously erupting into revolution.

Accounting for Variations

The authors also recalculated the Gini coefficient to account for potential variations. They assumed that the income of the top quintile (the wealthiest 20%) could vary by ±10%. Here’s what they found:

If the top quintile earned 10% more, the Gini coefficient rose to 0.66, placing France significantly above other European countries of the time.

If the top quintile earned 10% less, the Gini dropped to 0.55, bringing France closer to Britain’s level.

Ultimately, the authors admit there’s uncertainty about the exact level of inequality in France. Their best guess is that it was comparable to other countries or somewhat worse.

Step 8: Drawing Some Conclusions

Saying that most people in the 18th century were poor and miserable—perhaps the French more so than others—isn’t exactly a compelling statement if your goal is to gather clicks or make a dramatic political point.

It’s incredibly tempting to look at the past and find exactly what we want to see in it. History often acts as a mirror, reflecting our own expectations unless we challenge ourselves to think critically. Whether you call it wishful thinking or confirmation bias, it’s easy to project the future onto the past.

Looking at the initial graph, I understand why someone might fall into this trap. Simple, tidy narratives are appealing to everyone. But if you’ve studied history, you’ll know that such narratives are a myth. Human nature may not have changed in thousands of years, but the contexts we inhabit are so vastly different that direct parallels are meaningless.

So, is revolution imminent? Well, that’s up to you—not some random graph on the internet.

Notes

(1) A la lanterne was a  revolutionary cry during the French Revolution, symbolising mob justice where individuals were sometimes hanged from lampposts as a form of public execution

(2) The capitation tax was a fixed head tax implemented in France during the Ancien Régime. It was levied on individuals, with the amount owed determined by their social and professional status. Unlike a proportional income tax, it was based on pre-assigned categories rather than actual earnings, meaning nobles, clergy, and commoners paid different rates regardless of their actual wealth or income.

(3) Jean-Baptiste Isnard was an 18th-century economist. These estimates attempted to describe the theoretical distribution of income among different social classes in pre-revolutionary France. Isnard’s work aimed to categorise income across groups like nobles, clergy, and commoners, providing a broad picture of economic disparity during the period.

(4) The Gini coefficient (or Gini index) is a widely used statistical measure of inequality within a population, specifically in terms of income or wealth distribution. It ranges from 0 to 1, where 0 indicates perfect equality (everyone has the same income or wealth), and 1 represents maximum inequality (one person or household holds all the wealth).

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 13

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You’re tired. Despite your blips into the void, you’re less than rested. You sit back from the table and leave the pencil in the crease of the ledger. You stretch your fingers and yawn. You let your eyes closer and your head wobbles. 

“Sleepy?” Rogers intones. 

You lurch in the chair and glance at him. You don’t remember him returning. He went off to ‘chat with Thor’ but you must’ve been too swept up in the numbers to notice. You nod and fix your posture. 

“A little,” you confess. 

“It’s late,” he stretches his arms as he speaks then rolls his shoulders. “Should probably tuck in soon. You got a lot of work tomorrow. Me too.” 

“Mm, right,” you hum flatly. 

You’re trapped in the tenuous stalemate. Since his confrontation, you’ve been reticent. That’s safest. You still can’t figure out what you did to rile him but you hardly want to do it again. A man like Rogers is not the type you want to goad. If it were up to you, you wouldn’t even be here. Again, that’s just another reminder of his power. You’re here because he says you need to be. 

“I bought you stuff to sleep in,” he goes around the bed and grabs his own bag, flopping it up on the mattress.  

“Oh, thanks, uh,” you slowly close the ledger and stare at the bed.  

Your eyes drift over to the chaise. It’s wide enough for you. It even looks comfy. You get up and approach it, peering into the top of the shopping bags. That looks like pajamas? 

He grunts and draws your attentions again. As he unbuttons his shirt, your eyes widen and your heart spark. Oops! You grab a bag and flee for the bathroom behind him. He doesn’t flinch as you pass by. 

You shut the door and drop the bag. This is going to be so weird. And you thought the hotel room was bad. Him in the bed in just his towel and then you falling out of the shower. It’s a deranged slapstick but you’re the main joke. 

You push open the mouth of the bag and pull out the silk top. The dusty rose fabric is trimmed with black lace. You blink dumbly as you examine the thin straps and fish out the matching bottoms. Okay, are these supposed to be pajamas? 

You search the rest of the bag. It’s much of the same but in various colours. You’re better off sleeping in what you have on. Still, you are entirely unprepared another argument. Just the memory of his chasing you around that room has you jittery. 

You change, reluctantly. How are you supposed to stay warm? You hate being cold. Especially when you’re trying to sleep. You swear, he’s torturing you. For you, he reserved his more sinister practice, you almost envy the man he stomped on the street. At least that was quick. 

You crack open the door and peek out. Rogers lays in bed, one arm bent behind his head, his other hand on his phone as he holds it over his muscled torso. He has no shame as he reclines with his upper half entirely bare. You suppose he has no reason to be embarrassed but you very much do. 

You steel yourself and emerge. You tear your eyes from him and don’t look back. You circle around the bed with one focus in mind. You snatch the pillow from the other side but find it caught on something. Rogers clears your throat and you look up as he stares back. He clings to the corner of the pillow. 

“Whatcha doin’?” He asks coyly. 

You gulp, “oh, I was gonna make up the chaise--” 

“Why?” He prompts. 

“Well, er, I thought--” 

“Bed’s big enough,” he shrugs and yanks, putting the pillow back down. “Unless you think I smell or something.” 

“Oh, no sir, no,” you argue and fold your hands in front of you. The silk brushes your chest and you’re overly aware of how your nipples poke into the cool fabric. “Um...you didn’t happen to grab any sets with pants? My legs are cold.” 

“I dunno. The lady picked it all,” he swipes up his phone again. “Looks like it fits. If you’re cold, get under the blankets.” 

“Right, that’s... smart,” you agree and climb onto the bed. You do just as he says and hide under the blankets. You put your back to him and nestle in. Your body relaxes into the cushy mattress and you yawn again. It’s no big deal. You’re just going to sleep. 

Your head swirls with exhaustion. It doesn’t take much more than a few deep breaths to doze off. You’re grateful for the quick relief. Your body and mind is so addled that the blank void is much preferable. 

You wake to darkness. The kind that blurs like static in your vision. There’s a steady rhythm at your back. Rogers snores lowly between deep breaths. His warmth radiates beneath the blankets and clouds around your legs. 

You peek back at his fuzzy figure. It’s the only time you’ve ever seen him anything less than terrifying, even though you can’t really see him. You move carefully and slide out from under the covers. You tiptoe around to the bathroom and ease the door into the frame. 

You quickly relieve yourself and wash your hands. As you come back out, the snoring continues, assuring you of your successful mission. You climb back into bed and once more roll onto your side. As you pull the blankets up, there’s a dip in the tempo. 

Rogers’ snores fade and catch in his throat. The bed jostles with his movement as he grumbles. You squeak as his arm snakes over you and his heat blazes around your body. He tucks his hand under your waist and nuzzles your hair, puffing hotly into your scalp. 

His arm is like a vice. You can’t dislodge it as you wriggle helplessly. His snores rise again to assure you of oblivion. You clasp onto his wrist but you’re much too weak to fight him. You knew that already but now you feel it completely. 

As you writhe, you let out another high-pitched gasp. What’s that? The bulge flush to your rear has you paralysed as the realisation slowly sinks in. Oh. He’s only human after all, even if to you, he seems immortal. 

You blanch and blink into the dark. The silk isn’t much of a barrier and his own pajama bottoms don’t offer much else. What do you do? You can’t let him wake up like this? You can’t let him know that you felt him. 

Yet if you wake him up by wrench him off of you, that would give it all away. Well, you guess this is your life now. You’re stuck. Trapped with this enigmatic man and his unyielding demands. Even in his sleep, he’s managed to impose his will on you. 

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Your Touch Builds a Bonfire - A John Shelby/Reader One Shot Story.

Just a bit of John smut for my lovelies on this cold Saturday night! Enjoy, darlings :)

Words - 1,810

Warnings - Spicy smut below the cut, minors DNI!

The way he twirls a pencil between his fingers, watching how the phalanges bend so effortlessly has you in a trance. How he makes a teacup look so small in his grasp. How the veins in the back of his hands bulge when he flexes a hand in his hair, usually when something has frustrated him to the point of anger.  

When he notices you watching, though, that fiery temper of his never fails to cool.  

He knows how much you desire him. He sees it, he’s been waiting for you to make a move, seeing how far he can go in pushing you with little instances of tease. He always finds some way to lightly touch you, whether emphasising a point, sweeping a stray few strands of hair behind your ear, or brushing fallen eyelashes from your cheek, he finds a way.  

You want his hands on you in much finer detail, though. It’s only because he’s your boss and you’re scared to lose your job that you haven’t acted upon it, just in case you’re wrong. It makes you tingle to the tips of your ears, imagining giving him the come on only for him to stare at you incredulously and state that you are mistaken over his intentions.  

Leaving your daydream behind, you turn your attention back to the typewriter ahead of you, the chaos of the bookmaker's offices soon beginning to swirl as the races kick off at various locations around the country. By the end of the day, the final race leaving the men cleared from the space to go and either celebrate or commiserate their wins or losses at the local boozer, you are still at your typewriter, John across the space at his desk, scribbling in the ledger.  

You see him exit his seat without a word, leaving the room, your fingers tapping the final letters upon the page you need his signature upon, pulling it from the typewriter and gently shaking it to dry the ink. Placing it down, you see an arm reach over your shoulder, a whiskey placed upon your desk.  

“Worked hard today, you did,” he speaks, nodding to the glass as you turn to look up at him. “I ain’t in the mood for the pub, but I am in the mood for a few drinks with my favourite.”  

He winks, and heat prickles your cheeks, busying yourself with picking up the drink and taking a big sip, attempting to bolster your confidence a little. It’s what you want, but oh! How the man makes you nervous!  

He’s too gorgeous for his own bloody good.  

“Well, since your other favourite was disappointing today, I can scarcely blame you.”  

He grins, chuckling into his glass. “Yeah, you’re much less trouble than a thoroughbred with the desire to throw his fucking jockey.” He shakes his head, sinking the rest of his drink. “Bloody animal.” He reaches for the bottle he brought with him, refilling his glass, topping yours off too. “You’re still trouble, though.”  

Your face mirrors the confusion his statement makes you feel. “I am?” 

“Oh ar, love. Definitely.”  

Your heart hammers with nervous excitement, taking a long sip of the whiskey before replying. “Why is that?”   

“Because short of diving on you, I dunno what the fuck else I’m meant to do to show you how much I want to take you to bed. If we even got that far. Believe me, I want you so badly, I’d settle for tearing off all your clothes and bouncing you on my cock while sitting in a chair down here.”  

Oh god. There they are, his intentions, delivered with every ounce of cocky confidence you should have known would leak out eventually after his tentative flirtations thus far. John Shelby can only be gentlemanly for so long, though.  

It’s time to cease the wallflower routine.  

Standing up, you don’t take your eyes off him for a long, long moment, the weight of your mutual stare enough to crack the floor below as you gesture to the seat you rose from. “I think we were the wrong way round for that to happen.”  

His mouth curls into a smirk, finishing his drink and placing the glass down, seating himself. You move to him, excitement whizzing through your tummy, gathering the soft material of your summer dress and beginning to hitch it up, John’s hands reaching for you, running up your bare legs as you manoeuvre astride him, sitting upon his thighs.  

The feeling of his hands, hands you have fantasised about for so long finally running over your skin, gripping your hips as he pulls you closer to him causes little darts of warmth to flicker through you, the heat of his hardening cock right against your apex making you tingle with want. His lips press kisses across your chest, hands moving to cup your breasts, tongue running over the half-moon of each soft orb escaping the top of your dress, his soft groan hungry, fingers moving to lower the zip.  

The fabric pools in his grasp as the dress falls from your shoulders, his lips placing ascending kisses to your neck before your mouths finally meet, an exchange of filthy, blazing, hungry need, your heart somersaulting in your chest. His mouth is so ravenous upon you, it knocks you sideways, the urgency of his desire for you, hands clasping at your back, removing your bra will easy skill, like he’s done it a hundred times before.  

He probably has.  

You feel in nothing short of a hundred percent capable, knowledgeable hands, his mouth moving to suck upon your nipple, your head tipping back as you grind yourself against his hard cock, his teeth prickling in bite upon the pebbled bud in response to that. “Fuck, these are some fucking beautiful tits.” His breath flutters hot against you, summer breezing through a spring chill, warming you to your bones, his tongue running slowly from between your breasts and back to your mouth.  

Unbuttoning his waistcoat, your hands slide beneath his braces, levering them from his shoulders, unknotting his tie and unbuttoning his crisp, white shirt, thirsting to feel the skin that lies beneath pressing against yours. His shirt flutters to the floor, his arms tightening around them as your touch tours lithe muscles encased in pale, golden freckled flesh. His hand trails down your body, reaching the cotton of your undies, the fabric dampened by your want for him.  

Pushing you back, he moves you to your feet, pupils blown with lust, gripping those soaking undies and tugging them down. Shuffling the chair forward, he lifts your leg over his shoulder, scattering kisses up your inner thigh, the anticipation making you pant, a soft gasp fluttering over your lips as his mouth meets your folds.  

A hot lick rolls through the wet of you, the light fleck of stubble adding in delicious contrast, his tongue seeking your clit and circling, flickering, evoking your wails, your hands going to his hair, nails flexing against the shaven sides of his head as you mewl in delight. Each lick has your blood running hot, sends glimmers through you, little shocks of pleasure tingling your entire core as your cries rend the air.  

He has you panting hard, each skim of his tongue over your tiny, potent little bundle making your hips rock against his mouth, his arms wound around you, one gripped to your waist, the other squeezing upon the rounded orb of your bum. His full lips close in suck around you, your legs shaking, the heat of it snapping over your bones, the pleasure biting and full-bodied, a bright burn of warmth making the coil within you tighten sharply.  

Flattening his tongue against you, he lets you get off on the wide drag of it, the tip caressing your dewy opening as your clit throbs against the press, his hand moving to begin undoing his trousers.  

“I could fucking eat your beautiful little cunt forever, darlin’, but god, I need you on my cock.” You’re so aroused, you can barely form thought as he pulls it out, and it’s thick and perfect, running it through the slick petals of your sex as you sit back astride him before feeding it into your gaping little hole, filling you with a rumbling grunt.  

White hot pleasure sizzles up your spine, ascending like a flurry of champagne bubbles, the taste of yourself upon his sensuous mouth more erotic than you could have ever imagined, moaning against his tongue as your rock back and forth upon him. The sensations of your walls being split so wide around him has bolts of pure bliss skittering through you, your tender little clit grinding against him as his hips buck up against you, pushing you back to devour your breasts with kisses, nibbles and licks.  

The way his hands tour you, stroking ever rise and curve of your body, it has you just as mindless as the delicious drag of his cock over every sweet spot within you, scraping sparks through your walls, his groans deep and rich as he paws at you with unrelenting hunger. The heat of it roars like a forest fire, the embers sizzling over your nerves as your mutual moans fill the space, bliss tumbling through you both. It’s fervid and delicious, scorching and unrelenting, everything you knew sex with John would be now playing out in an illumination of utter sin.  

His eyes are a bonfire of blue fire as he stares at you, fingers tangling in your hair, kissing you again with urgent need as his cock sends glimmers fizzing through you. It becomes even more uncontained, the power of him beneath you incredible, hands tightening upon your shoulders as he forces you down upon the rigidity of him, making you to take the brunt of every hard snap of his hips, hitting you so deep, you’re sent reeling and mindless atop him as your thighs tremble.  

Your cries reach crescendo as the stars surge forth, entire nebulas glittering into decadent light, your walls fluttering around him, dragging his release from his sweaty body, cock spilling hot into you. You’re both rendered an entwined, panting mess in the wake of it, kissing softly, hands still roaming, John beginning to chuckle.  

“Yeah,” he breathes, nuzzling your nose, “definitely the least troublesome favourite of the day.”  

You beam, your chest still heaving hard. “Want to take me upstairs and see if I can change that?” Your tongue teases the outer shell of his ear, gently nibbling the soft lobe. “I promise not to buck the jockey off.”  

He laughs loudly, locking his arms around you and carrying you to the stairs, his hand smacking against your bum a few times causing your shrieking laughter. “I suppose it’d be fun if you tried to, love.”  

[gh0stly-pages]

Out of Our Minds (Part Three)

Ledger! Joker x Harley Quinn-esque f!reader (18+)

CW: swearing, mentions of violence

Words: 4.1k

Chapter Summary: The third session with the Joker, and as you try and delve into the man he is, you can't help the connection you feel. Seems he might feel it too...

previous part: part 2 | next part: part 4

Notes: Hello everyone! Apologies for the wait, took a bit longer because of Halloween, was having too much fun to write. But here we are! This series is def picking up the pace now and soon we will dive into some real chaos lol. Please enjoy :) (I love inputting bits of Arkham dialogue in these because i can >:) )

_____________________________________________

On your way to work, it seems Gotham is in shambles. 

There seems to be some type of announcement going on, by someone from the GPD. You could care less, honestly, especially since you need to get to work before you’re late, but what piques your interest is the crowds of people. There is an obvious rift amongst them. Some of them hold signs displaying the infamous bat symbol, crying out in favor for Batman, it seems, some holding children at their hip who cry for the man they’ve lost. The other half push back against the pro-Batman crowd, yelling things like ‘murderer’ and ‘fraud’. The tension is so thick you can taste it. These people might tear each other apart.

Oh, if only Joker were here to see this. He’d never shut up.

A woman bumps into you, clutching a sign with that bat symbol painted on it, with words beneath it reading ‘come back’. You sneer, and she retreats back to her other Batman groupies. How could anyone get so worked up over a man in a mask? Take the mask off and we’re all messed up inside. Batman had worn the mask of a hero, parading around as Gotham’s salvation, and yet he killed people just like his enemies had. Like Joker had. Except Joker didn’t pretend to be someone he wasn’t. 

Mr. Dale may be right about keeping all this from Joker, but you can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. He’s going to get out eventually and see all this mess. They can’t hide it from him forever. Even if he’s on house arrest for the rest of his damn life, he’s the Joker, and they won’t be able to stop him. They’re just scared. Scared that the Joker may have won. 

You walk through the city, broken into chaos, all the way to Arkham.

———————————————

This time when you enter Joker’s little conference room, he lacks his usual straitjacket, and you’re both surprised and relieved that your bosses actually listened to you. His asylum garb has been replaced with the usual Arkham patient outfit, an orange baggy shirt with matching orange pants. Immediately, as ashamed as you are, your eyes go to his arms, which are surprisingly lean and toned, probably from numerous fights. You trace his arms down to his hands, each of which have a separate handcuff linked to a man made circle jutting from the table. You look at every crinkle, every callus, every line. Human hands. Dangerous hands.

“Uh, doll, my eyes are up here, ya know.”

Shit. You look up into his eyes as you take your seat, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m… sorry, I was just-“ You try to search for an excuse, but it’s clear from the teasing look Joker gives you that he’s not looking for one. You flush. “I’m surprised they let you out of the jacket.” I’m surprised your hands are so normal. 

“Well, it certainly wasn’t from my good behavior,” he clucks, his tongue hitting the top of his mouth. “Did you ask them to get rid of it?”

You can’t tell if he’s angry or not. “I did.”

He breaks into his signature, manic grin. Not angry. Good. “I knew I liked you, doll.”

Joker doesn’t say ‘thank you’ or ‘I appreciate it’ but somehow, this is better. It’s probably as close as you’ll get to hearing those words from him and it ignites something in you. You feel proud of yourself. Proud that he’s proud of you. Before you can return his smile, you remember ‘hey, wait a fucking second, this is my patient The Joker we’re talking about here’. You settle for a small smile. Be professional. “Mr. J, I wanna start this session off by just saying I think we’re making some good progress-“

“Doctor y/n, you seem to have quite the fascination with my hands,” Joker interrupts, a giggle rising in his throat. 

Dammit. Were you looking at his hands again? You didn’t even fucking notice. You’re not trying to. You’re probably just a little shocked. Again, it’s like pulling back the curtain, getting a glimpse at the man behind the act. And there he sits, with such human looking hands. “Excuse me, I’m just…” You search for the words. “I’m not used to seeing you without being all wrapped in a jacket.”

“Well, ah, they’re just hands. Did ya think I’d have talons?”

“Maybe. Or maybe, like, robotic hands. Rocket launchers for hands. Something cooler.” Are you teasing him? Your patient? You might be teasing him, just a little.

At your teasing, his smile shifts sideways into a smirk, eyes thinning. “Cooler? What’s cool is, ah, what these hands have done. They’ve been the cause of the end of so many lives.” He tries to lace his hands together, but the handcuffs keep his arms too far apart, so his fingers touch only slightly. “Now, ah, where were we?”

You stumble to find the words. So much for professionalism. “R-right, sorry. I think we’re making real progress here. Yesterday was a good session, and I’m hoping today will follow suit.” You bring out your clipboard. Click your pen open. “Now, why don’t we pick up where we left off? We were analyzing your crimes-“

“Spectacles.”

“Whatever you wanna call em’. Now those are only one part of the man you call the Joker-“

“That is, ah, my name, doll face.”

You hold your hand up. “Let me finish. We haven’t talked about you. About this person you present as the Joker. And yes,” you say roughly, before he can cut you off again, “I know you say that you and this character you present are one in the same, but nobody is exactly the person they put out. I mean, you did say we all hide behind a facade. So, let’s talk about Joker, the one we see on TV getting the best of Batman.” You scribble a little picture of him, smiling wide and in his signature purple suit. Jutting your chin, you gestured for him to look at it. “This will be the outside Joker…” You do another little doodle, one of Joker without his makeup and in the Arkham garb. “And this will be the you in here.”

The Joker looks down at your drawings and bites the inside of his cheek. “Not much of a difference, doll face, except that I look even crappier in here.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you proud of the person that Gotham has come to know?”

“Define proud.”

“Do you feel a sense of satisfaction over the person you allow Gotham to see? This crazy clown figure?”

Joker tilts his head back, thinking, and you can’t help but stare intensely at his neck, tracing down his throat to his Adam’s apple, which moves as he swallows. Geez, what is up with you and the staring today? Luckily, he doesn’t think for long, tilting his head back down to look at you. “I’m just fine with whatever I showed to Gotham. And I don’t regret-tah one bit of it.” Looking all smug, he smirks. “I’m not proud of who I am, I relish it. Bask in it. The Clown Prince of Crime, they call me! Nothin’ better than that, doll. Means I’ve made a difference.”

“You’ve certainly made an impact, Mr. J. For better or for worse.”

“And whaddya get out of all that, doll? That I’m some kind of egotistical maniac?”

“Let me do the analyzing, please, Mr. J.”

He grunts. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, and you can’t help but smile. “You say you’re proud, but clearly it’s not enough,” you tell him, scribbling notes underneath the doodle of him. “When you get out of here, you’d like to go back to all that, wouldn’t you? Go back to testing the B-Man?”

“Batsy and I just fit so well together, dolly. We’re meant to chase one another to the end of our days!”

If you can find him. “All the stuff you pulled then, did it really amount to anything if you want more?”

“Oh, doll, it’s not that I want more. I’m not just some kinda freak gettin’ a good fix when I cause havoc. My point just keeps needing to be made!” He winks at you. “Course, I know that if I get out of here I’ll have to behave.”

You seriously doubt Joker even knows the concept of behaving. “B-Man would just get you again, would he not?”

Joker cackles. He laughs at everything but you’re always confused when he laughs at something you don’t find remotely humorous. “That’s the fun part! He and I, we’re like a cat and mouse, like in those old cartoons. We’re just chasing each other in damn circles and, ah, the fun doesn’t-tah stop until one of us falls.” With a cruel smile, he flicks his fingers, as if toppling something over. “And I don’t intend to be the first to fall.”

“And after B-Man falls?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see, I suppose. Doesn’t sound very fun. Why, you got a soft spot for the Bat?”

“For Batsy?” Technically, you’re not supposed to be very vocal in your own opinions, especially when they do nothing to help, but wouldn’t it be good for Joker to know you’re with him on some things? Not that Joker has too much disdain in Batman, he clearly loves to mess with him, but obviously the two are on very different sides. You want to show Joker you stand with him. “Absolutely not. The Bat hasn’t done anything to benefit me. If anything I feel more… useless. This man in a mask gets to go around fighting criminals and gets praised and here I am busting my butt everyday and what do I get? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” You clap a hand over your mouth. Way to go overboard. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

The Joker, of course, doesn’t care that you rambled on. He looks amused. No, not just amused, he looks pleased. His whole face contorts into an evil grin. “Well well well, doll face, nowwww we’re talking. Why didn’t you tell me you loathed the Batman so much?”

“Didn’t think it important.”

“Well, ah, I find it important. Looks like we wanna both go after the Batman, don’t we?”

“Go after him?” Now it’s your turn to laugh. “Obviously I’m not going to do that.”

He scooches forward. “But you’d like to. Come on, doll, given the chance, wouldn’t you wanna, ah, take the Bat down?”

For some reason, you actually think about it. If you really did have the chance, would you want to bring down the Bat? He was already down now, obviously, but if you had had the chance before then, would you have taken B-Man down? Before you can even dive into it, you snap yourself out of it. Why would you even care to do all that in the first place? Imagine you, beating up Batman? You’re not crazy. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Joker shrugs. “That isn’t a no.”

Things are going far from where you need them to be. “Let’s take this conversation back to you, Mr. J. How about we talk about the Joker in here? Nothing left for you to do except sit and think. You’re not out causing havoc, you’ve been stripped of your weapons and your makeup, what do you feel about yourself now?”

Already, you can tell the Joker isn’t too fond of the question. He squirms uncomfortably in his chair, muttering things under his breath that all sound nonsensical to you. For some reason, you kinda like it. It’s about time you get under his skin too.  “I feel like I wanna hurt someone,” he answers, clenching his fists. “I just wanna get out there and get back to everything.”

“Okay… see, you’re angry at being in here, and you don’t know how to handle your emotions so you’re resorting to violence.” As much as that’s probably true, you’re almost sure that if you were stuck in Arkham, you’d wanna hurt a few people too but that won’t help.

“Violence solves a lot more problems than ya think.”

“Not mental ones. I think I’m seeing what’s going on here, Mr. J.”

Joker taps on the table, a random pattern of noise. “And that is?”

You point with your pen between the two Joker sketches. “Both these people have unresolved problems, problems coped with by violence. Plenty of people do this, but they don’t go around trying to make their points to the whole damn city. These huge acts of violence are outcries and you don’t even realize it. You have no one to turn to to sort your feelings out with and this is what the outcome is.” You look back up at him, and it’s clear he’s confused. “I told you at our last session, you need company. Someone you can relate to, empathize with, talk through these feelings with.”

He frowns. “And what about you, huh? You’re, ah, just as alone as me, not a soul to talk to, and yet you’re not blowing up hospitals.”

Will he ever quit trying to analyze you? “I have other means of coping, Mr. J. Whatever happened to you… it made you hurt. And this hurt, it turned you away from people, even though we need companionship. We seek attention and validation and yet I fear you’re seeking it in all the wrong ways.”

“Who says we need companionship?”

“Human nature. Our hearts. Your mental state,” you say harshly.

His tongue pushes out his scar as he licks the inside of his cheek. “Feistyyy. I like it when you’re all, ah, riled up.”

Joker was really pushing your buttons now, and it was worse that no matter how upset you got at him, he’d find some kind of enjoyment in it. You really couldn’t win some of the battles he put you up against. Yet, the purr in his voice made your cheeks heat. You could never tell when to be angered or enamored. “I really do think that whatever happened in your childhood resulted in your detachment from emotion, and a distrust in people, and this mix of the two… well, it hasn’t been the best for you.”

“So, whaddya suggest? I go mingle with some of the other Arkham patients? Spend some quality time together finger painting and singing Christmas carols?” His laugh comes out as a sharp exhale. “I don’t think friendship is gonna fix me, doll.”

��I wasn’t going to suggest any of that,” you assert. “I just think that isolating ourselves from not just people but also feelings, now that doesn’t get us anywhere good.”

“Clearly,” he giggles, lifting up his cuffed wrists. “But I’ve been doing just fine, doll, aside from this little incident of being locked up in here.”

It was like the Joker just considered Arkham some bump in the road before he could continue his anarchy. That wasn’t good. He couldn’t have his heart set on going back to taking down Batman, no matter how good his reason. Especially considering, well, Batman was nowhere to be seen. Gosh, you wish you could just tell him. Maybe he wouldn’t see it as motivation, maybe it would shut down all his ideas. There was just far too much risk with everything. Say something, say nothing. The Joker was a lot of uncertainties. “But you shouldn’t have to be locked up in here. You don’t have to be if you just try and listen to me. I really want you to get better.”

“I don’t need to get better,” he growls. “The way other people feel, it’s just a soft spot for others to exploit. I’m already winning because nobody has anything on me. Chaos stirs something inside me, isn’t that enough?”

“No, Mr. J, you need more than that,” you plead. Why is he so stubborn? “Just a little company can do wonders. Just some faith in someone.”

“So they can do what? Push me down on my knees like some kind of sinner, making me beg for forgiveness? Making me change my ways? You really are crazy if you believe that.”

Joker is impossible, really. You don’t know how else to get your message across, how to make him listen. So instead, you think back on your deal, take a deep breath, and give him a story.

“When I was ten years old, the kids at school all decided they hated me so much that they all pretended I didn’t exist. I’d try and approach people and… and they never even acknowledged me. It followed me all throughout the rest of my school years.” You mess with your coat, fidgeting with the buttons, not quite able to meet Joker’s gaze. “I know how it feels when people hurt you.”

You wait, wondering if the Joker will give you a story back. You’re surprised when he opens his mouth to speak. “Once, ah, when I was just starting out, one of the criminals I hired managed to sneak up on me, knocked me to the floor real good. Kept babblin’ on about how I was a freak, how I’d never amount to anything, the heel of his boot digging into my back.” He stops, taking a deep breath, and you wonder for a moment if he’s going to stop all together but he continues. “Course, with all his ramblin’, he failed to notice me grabbing a blade. I stabbed him right in the foot, and oh boy, did he scream. I gave him the nastiest beating of his life, I’m sure. Blood all over the floor. And right before I was done, I made sure to give him and I matching smiles. Die with a smile, no?” Joker holds his chin up. “I don’t need people. People don’t care.”

It’s only a single story yet you realize the Joker has so much behind him. So many incidents that seemed to have fueled the thunderous rage beneath his skin. This man, finding humor in the wickedness of the world, wanting to show that everyone is essentially just as rotten as he, has been torn apart over and over again. Society had crushed the both of you yet here you sat, a doctor, and there he sat before you, a madman. In your anger towards the world, you had sought to try and help it, and in his anger, he wanted to burn it all down. You still had hope left in people, he had let that all die away.

He said people didn’t care, but you cared. This was more than just a way towards a paycheck, you really did want to help him. That’s what you’d always wanted for every Arkham patient. Yet the others did not quite distrust people as much as Joker did. Joker didn’t have anyone for him. How was it that Batman, a murderer playing superhero, still had half the city on his side and yet everyone just wanted Joker to rot away in here? You think about yourself, and how much better you would feel if you did have someone, if you had been given love and support along your miserable journey. If you could give Joker the support you’d always wanted, well, maybe that would change something in him.

“We’re both pretty messed up, huh?” you finally say, deciding not to comment on anything specifically about Joker’s anecdote. No need to keep talking about something so horrific. Joker didn’t need that. He needed comfort. 

Joker blows air from his nose, smiling softly. “We are, aren’t we? Just a buncha freaks.”

“Freaks still need to stick with other freaks.”

“And who have you got exactly, Miss l/n?”

You freeze. Nobody. Absolutely nobody. He knows it. Yet for a moment you feel… well, embarrassed. Your hand creeps to your warming face, your eyes feel suddenly watery. You don’t have your parents anymore. No old friends from school or college, not that there were many to begin with. No coworker friends, shitty bosses. All you have is yourself and you hate it. 

Joker seems to notice that his comment didn’t go down well, and he holds up his hands like he’s gesturing for you to stop, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Uh, doll, I didn’t mean to pry…”

“No, no, it’s fine…” You quickly wipe at your eyes with the back of your hand. “Just wasn’t expecting the question, I guess.”

“Right,” he mumbles. “It wasn’t, uh, meant to be an insult.”

You let your eyes flutter close for a second and take a nice, long breath in. When your eyes open again, you straighten yourself out, contemplating your next words. “I know how it feels to be alone, Mr. J. More than anything.” Your voice comes out as a whisper, your fingers drifting towards his own, which are splayed out on the table. He sits up very still, unmoving save for a twitch in his jaw, as he watches you place your hand on top of his. You’re not sure what you’re doing, but you need your point made. “I… I know how much you think you don’t need people, but people offer support and guidance, and if I could have some of that right now, for fucks sake, I would.” You sigh. “I don’t have a lot of friends.”

Joker’s tongue slowly traces along his chapped lips. You wish you knew what he was thinking. You hated how well he read you and you could hardly get anything on him. Finally, he speaks. “Well, you got one now.”

The Joker, a friend. It sounds like the stupidest thing in the entire world. This was someone who had hurt and killed and destroyed. Someone who was close to no one, the people around him with one purpose: to serve him. He had said how loyalty didn’t come for free, that it needed to be bought. If something so simple as loyalty was seen as a transaction to him, did he even comprehend the concept of companionship? He must have, at some point, whoever the man before the Joker was. But the person you were dealing with was not that man, you were dealing with Joker. Joker did not seem a man who connected with anyone yet he tells you how alike the two of you are, and you can’t help but believe it. Alone in the world, the two of you. Maybe he can’t yet bring himself to make a real connection with anyone but, goddammit, you wanted him to try.

Why not be alone together?

It would all be in hopes of helping him, you told yourself. Whatever relationship the two of you were forming. If he could have someone to talk to, not just in a professional sense, but someone who would really be there for him, you think that would help a lot.

That’s all this is. This is to help him.

You squeeze his hand. “I like the sound of that, Mr. J.”

—————

It started off as a joke, really. 

Joker didn’t want to be analyzed. The first night he had been brought into Arkham, he had been poked and prodded, as doctors tried to decipher what kinda pills to stuff him full of. Joker had tried to fight them off, but they had injected him with something that made him sluggish. Just a few hours later was when they had sent in all the psychiatrists to try and fix him. Joker didn’t need to be fixed. He was an agent of chaos, a force to be reckoned with, something they just couldn’t comprehend. Then you’d come along, and you were so lonely, and Joker liked toying with things that were easy to break. Except you’re nothing like the others. There’s something about you, this way that you interact with him, the way you don’t see him as some freak. When you stare at him, you don’t look at him like he’s a monster. It’s strange.

Joker doesn’t do friends. The term itself means nothing to him. It’s a meaningless word. Most words are meaningless to him, empty sayings. Yet when you look at him with those eyes, like he’s your equal rather than beneath you, Joker does feel something. Some kind of connection. He’s never thought about killing you, which says something. It’s the only way he can describe this feeling towards you, something other than the pure disdain he usually feels towards others. There is something… warm about you. Joker didn’t like it. Yet he let it happen anyways.

Long after you’re gone, when he’s strapped onto the metal slab the Arkham guards call a bed, he thinks on some of your words. You thought a companion would help him. Someone he could rely on. Someone who would truly be loyal.

He smiles wickedly to himself. You might just be right.

Taglist: @lightsabergirl / @knoepfl / @jeffswh0re / @itsmrshamilton / @heath-ledger-jokers-wife / @lolwey

Lmk if you'd like to be added! Hope the @'s are working lol...

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Death and the Black Widow

“Come see,” Death says, turning away, toward a well-lit path and the mists beyond.

“No,” Natasha says. She’s not going anywhere with anyone, not without more information. She sinks her weight into the ground, watches the ominous being in front of her slowly rotate to try and stare her down.

Natasha has fought gods and monsters. She doesn't flinch in the face of Death.

Natasha dies, and Death is waiting.

Natasha Romanoff is falling.

There’s peace in falling. There’s peace in ending. She’s finally cleared the red off her ledger. She can rest. The life that flashes before her eyes mostly isn’t worth reliving, but she grabs for the good parts. She saved the world a few times, that’s got to be worth something. She was part of a team of good people, some of them too good, she worries what will become of them. In her experience, the world doesn't have much room for good people.

She’s glad she met them, though. She’s proud she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with heroes. She's become someone who can face herself in the mirror. She isn't afraid to die.

Natasha Romanoff falls. She doesn’t remember hitting the ground.

“Hi,” the stranger says.

Natasha assesses her on instinct. Five foot six, wearing ornate green robes and some kind of headdress. Pretty.

Not even a little human. Not breathing, barely blinking, watching her complete her assessment with mild curiosity.

“You know, I always assumed nothing happened after you died,” Natasha tells the stranger, coming instantly to the correct conclusion. “That it all went black. Actually, I think I found that comforting.” Maybe she should have asked Stephen, he might have known. She's missed her window now.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Death says. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

It always is. Life always has been, she shouldn't have expected death to be any different. "What happens next?”

“Come see,” Death says, turning away, toward a well-lit path and the mists beyond.

“No,” Natasha says. She’s not going anywhere with anyone, not without more information. She sinks her weight into the ground, watches the ominous being in front of her slowly rotate to try and stare her down.

Natasha has fought gods and monsters. She doesn't flinch in the face of Death.

“Ugh. I hate the stubborn ones,” Death complains. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“The answer to my question. What happens next?”

”What do you want to have happen next? Do you want it all to end in darkness?”

She thinks about that. Once, she would have been glad to simply stop. The business of living, as a spy and assassin, had been a bloody one. She had lived anyway, simply because she was too good to die.

It’s different now. She’s seen that life can be better, that the Red Room that shaped and warped her so she never quite fit into the world wasn’t how things had to be.

“I want to try again,” she says. “I want to be reborn.”

“You sure? You won’t remember anything. And there could be a paradise on the other side of that veil.”

Maybe she should ask more questions, but Natasha is used to making decisions on incomplete information and making hard choices, for herself and others. And she doesn't want paradise yet, if it exists at all. She can't imagine it and maybe she still doesn't feel quite worthy of it.

Instead, she wants something much simpler.

"I'm sure,” she says. “…I assume I don't get to pick, but it would be nice if…”

“It was better than last time?” Death suggests.

Natasha shakes her head. That’s too much to ask for and anyway, better is subjective. She’s saved the world, she’s befriended amazing people, she wouldn’t trade this life for anything, and she could only do that because of who and what she was. She's not sorry she got to be the Black Widow.

But for the next life—even thinking it is hard, much less saying it. Her whole life has been about guarding herself, never being vulnerable. Asking for things from supernatural beings is definitely vulnerable.

It’s her last chance, though. Might as well go big.

“Maybe just the beginning?” she asks.

“…Sure,” Death says after a moment, a strange, sad smile playing across her lips. ”That can be arranged."

Natasha is just going to have to trust her. That goes against her nature, she doesn't trust anyone, but she's got no choice. Death is holding all the cards. She extends her hand. "Take me, then."

Rio Vidal, Death incarnate, takes the hand of the Black Widow and walks with her beyond the veil.

In a hospital, a woman strains, holds her wife's hand in a crushing grip, her expression one of mixed joy and agony as the baby, their baby, makes its way into the world.

Rio, invisible, watches the birth, the smiles, the tears, the way the two women tuck close to stare at a tiny, red face.

"There," she murmurs. "That's the best beginning anyone could have."

Then Death is gone and only life remains.

Link to the small collection of Agatha fics I've written

[dirtyvulture]

Dear Diary

*Set in the Darkest Knight AU*

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Mutant!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 4459

Summary: Natasha embraces her new life as an X-Men.

AN: I'm back with a little one shot. :) Enjoy!

December 6, 2023

Dear Diary,

Is that an appropriate way to start one of these? I’ve never kept a diary or a journal before. But Marie gave me this cute little notebook and said writing stuff down helps clear her mind, so I don’t think there’s any harm in giving it a shot. They would never let us have something like this in the Red Room. Too much evidence lying around for someone to stumble upon. Should I put a lock on this? Y/N wouldn’t snoop around to read this, would she? Well, I guess if she is–leave my diary alone, you big dummy!

The professor said the Red Room soldiers and Widows are coming tomorrow. This is all my fault. I’ve put these good people and innocent children in danger. Earlier, we went to help the kids pack their bags and board the buses. I’m not sure if Y/N has any kids of her own (or ever did at all), but I can tell she really cares about them. Although she was not happy with some of the excessive luggage some of them were bringing. No one would tell me where they’re sending the kids, but I overheard Ororo mention something about a private resort they had to buy out.

I still don’t quite understand why these people are willing to sacrifice so much for me. I’m basically a stranger to them. I have nothing to give them in return if they ask. Maybe they’ll finally throw me out when they realize how worthless I am. That’s what I really deserve. Not these warm clothes, the home-cooked meals, and this roof over my head. And I definitely don’t deserve the kindness and care Y/N has shown me. I really like her, but I’m afraid she’ll leave me when she realizes how boring and inexperienced I am. 

Oh, I think she’s coming out of the shower now. I’ll continue this later.

Love,

Nat

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

December 15, 2023

Dear Diary,

It’s weird how life goes back to normal so fast here. The Red Room soldiers and Widows were here not even a week ago, tearing down doors and blasting out windows, and everything is already repaired and the students are back at it like nothing happened.

A lot of them are excited to go back to their homes and families for the holiday. But a lot of them will also be staying at the mansion, because their families won’t accept them or they just don’t have any home to go back to. The professor asked Y/N to help plan some holiday games so the kids staying don’t get too bored or lonely. She’s acting like it’s the dumbest assignment he’s ever given her, but I’ve seen her spending all her free time ordering presents and decorations (with the professor’s credit card, of course), so I know she takes it very seriously and the kids are going to love whatever she comes up with.

I’m really glad I get to spend Christmas here. It’s been a long time since I’ve actually been able to celebrate it with people I love. I feel so welcomed here and no one looks at me like I’m any different, when I come from a past where there’s red all over my ledger. Sometimes I’m surprised anyone even lets me be around these kids alone, but some of them have powers that even make Y/N nervous, and I think they know they can trust me.

It’ll take some more time before I can be fully comfortable here, but it’s really starting to grow on me and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Love,

Nat

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

December 25, 2023

Natasha wakes up alone. She looks around the bedroom, in case you might be on the floor doing push-ups or in the bathroom showering, but the room is completely empty. Her heartbeat picks up as she jumps out of bed, afraid that you’ve left her, when she notices a note on the desk.

Downstairs making breakfast. Come join when you’re up - Y/N

She relaxes immediately, touched how you made sure to let her know in advance where you would be. She quickly washes up and puts on a robe, then hurries downstairs to a chaotic mess of torn gift wrapping, screaming children, and flashing new toys. She steps into the kitchen, where you are wearing a flowered apron and are threatening Marie with a spatula.

“Stop, those aren’t ready–Marie!” You swat at her hands as she swipes for a pancake.

“Merry Christmas, Miss Nat!” Marie says, moving your attention away from her as your girlfriend appears.

“Merry Christmas, Marie.” Natasha gives the girl a hug, not missing the folded pancake in her hand. 

“Merry Christmas, darling,” you say next, waiting for her to come over. “I made a special plate for you. It’s over here so the kids don’t get into it.” You point to a foil-covered plate off to the side of the stove. Natasha goes to investigate, peeling back the foil to find the plate fully-loaded with two different types of pancakes, one next to a little container of jam and honey, and the other still steaming and garnished with flecks of green onion. There’s even a bowl of grainy buckwheat porridge. Her heart soars at the sight of her favorite native breakfast. With a delighted squeal, she throws herself into your arms.

“Thankyou thankyou thankyou,” she choruses, squeezing you tightly as you rub her back.

“You’re welcome, darling.” 

At this point, you shoo everyone out of the kitchen to finish the preparations. Natasha joins Marie in the dining hall, helping set up the plates and silverware. She watches with great curiosity as Kitty tries getting Peter to step under the mistletoe she hung above the doorway, and then is distracted when Jean and Scott come down for breakfast.

“Y/N cooks Christmas breakfast for us every year,” Jean explains to Natasha. “The kids always look forward to it.”

“Hey, Y/N!” Scott yells into the kitchen. “Keep the walnuts away from my food, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Natasha hears you dismissively respond.

“Scott’s allergic,” Jean whispers to her. “Now there’s no proof how, but he ended up with a plateful of them last year and I almost had to take him to the hospital. Needless to say, it was an eventful Christmas.”

Natasha giggles to herself, already having a feeling she knows exactly how those walnuts got on Scott’s plate.

Everyone finds a seat at the table, the empty one next to Natasha reserved for you. You finally emerge from the kitchen, no longer in the flowered apron but one of your classic checkerboard flannels. You’re carrying an impressive tower of pancakes in one hand and a pan filled half and half with bacon and sausage in the other. The students break out in appreciation and applause as Bobby scoots aside some dishes to make room for the last trays.

“Don’t take more than you can finish,” you remind the kids, going around the table to sit next to Natasha and presenting her with her special plate. “And uh, Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and all that other stuff.” You raise your apple cider in a toast and everyone follows your lead.

“Thanks for breakfast, Y/N,” Ororo says, clinking her glass to yours. The students erupt with more thanks before they start reaching for the food, passing around the mountainous plate of pancakes, scooping whole fried eggs onto each other’s plates.

“Thanks again, babe,” Natasha says, putting her hand on your thigh as she leans over to kiss you on the cheek.

“You should try it first before thanking me,” you tease, still not used to all the praise. You were just trying to be a good partner, and it was somewhat of a Christmas tradition for you to cook breakfast for all the students who stayed at the mansion over break. You didn’t mind it at all, in fact you really did enjoy spending time in the kitchen and it made you feel good to take care of others.

Natasha leaves her hand on your knee as she eats, and eventually you put your hand on top of hers comfortingly. Neither of you engage much in conversation as you eat and listen, happy with the company. Once all of the food has been finished, Ororo rounds up the students to help clean everything before they can continue opening presents. 

Kitty gets you a Johnny Cash vinyl record. Marie and Bobby got you a variety pack of exotic flavors of jerky, including alligator, ostrich, and buffalo. Storm gives you and Natasha tickets to a weekend getaway at a Canadian resort. Jean and Scott also throw in a joint gift of a new set of winter bedsheets. You are very thankful for the presents and pile them neatly by your feet, when Natasha pulls out a box and puts it on your lap. Inside is a familiar-looking flannel shirt.

“It’s a brand new one,” Natasha says. “To replace all the ones I steal from your closet,” Natasha says.

“Thanks,” you say, putting your arm around her to pull her closer so you can kiss her cheek. “This one is from me.” You hand her a very small box.

Natasha opens it delicately and gasps when she sees what you’ve given her. It’s a wooden ring, carved a little roughly around the edges  with little turquoise-colored gems pressed into the outside.

“Did you make this?” Natasha asks, running her finger over the gems.

“Uh, yeah.” You’re suddenly nervous that she doesn’t like it. Woodworking was not your finest hobby, despite your decades to fine-tune the skill, but you preferred to build vast structures and furniture. Tiny little pieces of jewelry were extremely difficult to handle, but hopefully it was worth the numerous cuts and splinters you gave yourself. 

Natasha slips it on her right ring finger–a perfect fit. Maybe you needed to give yourself more credit for your handiwork.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, holding her hand up to admire the ring. “I love it. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” 

Natasha snuggles closer to you and rests her head on your shoulder while you sit back and watch everyone else finish opening their gifts.

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

The rest of the day is busy but productive. Natasha has never felt happier watching the students competitively decorate gingerbread houses, then go outside and play in the snow. You don’t join in anymore, preferring to watch from the side. You’re already wearing the flannel Natasha got for you and Natasha gazes at you adoringly from afar. Despite the differences the two of you had from time to time, she hasn’t loved another person the way she loves you. But sometimes she worries that you don’t feel the same way. 

You still don’t talk very much, hardly opening up about your past the way Natasha has spilled about hers. Although you seem mostly content at the mansion, Natasha can tell you’re still adjusting to being around so many people. The life of solitude in the cabin in the woods had clearly been more your style, and she feels guilty for dragging you away from that. But as much as she would love to spend all day with you cozied up in a cabin you built with your own hands, it wasn’t a realistic option. Not with all the threats and dangers that could come her way.

Which is why it was so important to Natasha that the Red Room be dealt with, as soon as possible.

She didn’t like how dismissive you got every time she brought it up, but she understood why. You had found your domestic bliss and didn’t want to let it go anytime soon. She wasn’t going to blame you. But she wished you would actually listen to her instead of shutting her down all the time. She would figure out how to broach the topic with you eventually, but today was not that day.

After a quiet dinner, which is basically just warmed up leftovers from breakfast, Natasha finds you sitting by yourself on the couch in front of a dying fire. Most of the students had retired to their rooms, exhausted by the day’s festivities. Natasha sits next to you, leaning her shoulder against yours.

“Hey,” she whispers.

“Hi.” You offer her your hand and she clasps onto it, threading her fingers with yours. You smile when you see the wooden ring on her finger. It looks perfect on her. “Did you have fun today?” you ask. 

“It was the best Christmas I ever had,” she replies. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course.”

Natasha is tired, but there’s still one more thing she wants to do with you. She rests her hand on your thigh, subtly at first, then she slowly starts to stroke your leg, her fingers barely perceptible through your jeans. You ignore her and her movements become bolder, creeping towards the inside of your thigh now and squeezing it lightly.

“Can I help you with something?” you finally ask. Natasha has always been a little more shy when it comes to asking for intimacy with you. But you were patient with her and never pressured her, and that encouraged her to have the confidence to ask if you were in the mood–even if she didn’t always do it with words. 

“Do you want to go upstairs?” she says, leaning forward until her lips almost touch yours. “I still have one more present to give you.”

“Oh, do you now?” you ask, trying to kiss her but she pulls away.

“You have to come upstairs,” she repeats, offering you her hand as she stands up.

“All right, all right.” Your knees creak as you push off the couch, taking Natasha’s hand and following her upstairs. You can hear her heartbeat pounding with excitement or maybe that’s…yours? You hope everyone else has gone to sleep by now, otherwise they wouldn’t be falling asleep anytime soon.

Back in the privacy of the bedroom, you let Natasha lead you to the bed and you sit down on the edge with her climbing onto your lap. 

“Is this okay?” she asks, her hands locking around the back of your neck.

“Of course,” you whisper, leaning in until your foreheads touch. Your arms circle her waist to hold her securely in place. Her breath fans over your face and her heartbeat pumps at an almost alarmingly quick rate. 

“I want you,” she says, rocking her hips against your thighs. “I want you to take me.”

“How do you want me?” you ask, before she presses her lips roughly to yours, her fingers digging into your neck. Her arousal spikes and so does yours. You open your mouth when she licks your lips to deepen the kiss. She tastes like vanilla and cookies and you instinctively pull her closer to you, wanting to devour her until the morning.

Natasha grabs the collar of your flannel, pulling apart the top buttons and running her hands down your chest and abs. Your skin burns where she touches you and you nip lightly on her bottom lip when she rests her hands on the buckle of your belt.

“I want to taste you,” you pant, hoping your request doesn’t come across as too greedy. Natasha has to fight down her thrill of excitement at your suggestion, wondering how you knew exactly what she wanted. She doesn’t even take the time to agree with you, instead hurriedly stripping off her clothes to show you how eager she is. You take off the flannel, setting it aside with reverence, then removing your undershirt and jeans. Natasha tackles you back on the bed, your thigh fitting between her legs and you feel the heat from her center rubbing against you.

“You’re so wet for me,” you say, holding her hips again and guiding her up until she’s hovering over your chest. “My good girl.”

“Your good girl,” Natasha reiterates, grabbing onto the headboard for support before she positions herself over your face. The scent of her arousal is almost overwhelming to you, and you waste no time bringing your arms over her thighs to pull her down. Natasha whines when your mouth makes contact with her slick center, your tongue slipping into her and coating with her juices. 

Natasha moans, grinding down so you can enter her deeper. Your arms tighten to prevent her from moving too much; you want to do things at your own pace. Her taste is so intoxicating and addictive, you could lie here forever eating her out. Natasha grips the headboard tighter, struggling to rock against your face for more friction, but you won’t let her. She whines in desperation, the noises music to your ears. Your tongue dips into her again before tracing up to her clit, flicking against it and Natasha grinds down harder on your chin, gasping and moaning. 

“Y/N,” she begs. “Y/N, please.”

You stop, pulling away from her far enough to say, “What do you want, baby?”

“I want you,” she repeats, her voice breaking. “I need you.”

“I know, baby. I got you.” As much as you love teasing her, this is not the time. You knew Natasha could sometimes be insecure about your relationship with her. But you had no regrets in choosing to be with her and loved her so much. You would never miss an opportunity to show her, either.

You loosen your arms around her so she has some freedom to move and Natasha quickly adjusts herself until she’s comfortable. When she settles back down on your face again, you find her clit and wrap your lips around it, rewarded with a long, drawn-out moan. Natasha rolls her hips to help you find a good rhythm. You feel her thighs tremble and more of her slick spills onto your tongue. 

“Oh, god. Oh fuck, Y/N,” she whimpers, the headboard flexing dangerously from how hard she’s holding onto it. 

Your stomach practically burns from how aroused you are with Natasha riding your face, and you’re hoping she’ll help you relieve some of the tension once you make her finish. You’ve held out as long as you could, and you can tell Natasha is ready to fall over the edge. Your tongue rests on her clit again, swiping upwards in a straight line, then dragging down at a diagonal angle, then going back up.

N.

Your tongue moves in an inverted V next, drawing an imaginary bar between them.

A.

You lick down her clit once more, then swipe perpendicular.

T.

Natasha is panting and shaking, completely unaware that you’re trying to spell her name on her with your tongue. One of her hands has left the headboard and is holding tightly onto your hair in an attempt to guide you, but your own plan is already in action.

She doesn’t make it the next A, her back arching and thighs clamping around your head as she finally cums. You don’t let a drop of it go to waste, lapping at her sensitive folds until she’s whimpering and trying to pull your head away. Natasha lifts herself off your face with a contented sigh, turning herself away from the headboard now, but you’re not quite done with her yet.

You pull her back down on your face and she falls forward with her hands on your chest. 

“Did I say you could go anywhere?” you grumble playfully. 

“Y/N,” Natasha giggles. 

“Can I have one more, darling?” you ask, and she responds by sitting back on your face. But now Natasha is the one with other ideas, as she eyes the veins on your flexing abdomen that disappear behind the band of your underwear. You feel her hands run across your stomach and your breath hitches when she tugs down your underwear.

“Nat, what are you–oh, shit.” Now it’s your turn to gasp and moan when Natasha leans over and places her mouth on your dripping center. You completely lose focus of what you were doing, instinctively spreading your legs open further to give her better access. “Fuck baby, oh fuck,” you whine, your head dropping back on the pillow.

“Did I say you could stop?” Natasha teases, turning your own words back against you. It takes a monumental effort, but you calm yourself enough to put your mouth to work again. Natasha almost soaks herself when she realizes how turned on you’ve gotten just from eating her out. Now she has only one mission in mind: make you cum before she does a second time. But you’re refusing to make it easy for her, and Natasha is already dangerously close despite having finished mere minutes ago. She knows she has to hurry, but judging from the tremble in your thighs, you’re closer than you’re letting on.

Natasha’s tongue circles your clit and she can feel you panting against her, your own efforts faltering in their rhythm. She pushes back against your face to remind you of what you promised her. Your fingers dig into the curve of her ass and you feel her breasts rubbing against your abs. Her mouth is so hot and wet and perfect on you, making you lose your breath every time her tongue touches you.

“Fuck, Nat,” you whimper, feeling like you’re losing control of yourself. You’re not even sure if what you’re doing to her anymore is working because all you can think about is the throbbing in your lower stomach that begs to be released. Your back arches off the bed when her tongue lashes at your clit and she struggles and fails to push down on your thighs to keep you grounded. “Nat, I can’t,” you warn, a little embarrassed at how fast you’re ready to release. 

“It’s okay,” you hear Natasha say, “Cum for me, baby.” 

White floods your vision and all the muscles in your body tighten as you spill into her mouth, a moan catching in your throat. Your head spins in a rush of endorphins and you’re practically convulsing underneath Natasha when you finally come down from your high. She purrs in delight at her success, gently squeezing at your thighs. And as much as you want to flip her around and press her head against your chest, you still do owe her.

Natasha’s second orgasm is a little more subdued but just as pleasurable. She bites the inside of your thigh to quiet the noise of her moan and you almost cum again. But once she finds the strength to move, Natasha crawls back up to you, nuzzling the side of your head and kissing you. Normally, you could go several rounds without even stopping for a break, but you’re unusually exhausted today. Maybe it was from waking up at four o’clock to work on breakfast for everyone or making sure that the Christmas activities throughout the day ran smoothly. 

Natasha rests her head on your chest, listening to your steady heartbeat and you rub her shoulder, tilting your head down to breathe in the faded scent of her shampoo. 

“Merry Christmas, Y/N,” she whispers.

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

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

January 2, 2024

Dear Diary,

Professor Xavier called me personally to his office today. I was really nervous that I was in trouble for something. I’m still not sure how I feel about his mind-reading thing. I try to keep my thoughts in check when he’s around, but I think that makes it seem like I’m hiding something. But other than that, he’s only ever been polite and respectful to me, and I can tell Y/N really looks up to him as a mentor and father figure.

He told me he has a lead on where the Red Room could be and asked if I still want to pursue them. Of course I do, but I know Y/N isn’t happy about it. I thought she would understand more. I know she’s got her own past that she hasn’t told me the entirety of yet (not that she’s required to), but she’s told a few stories so I know her situation is similar enough to mine. I wish she was more supportive instead of trying to talk me out of it, but I know she’s worried too. She doesn’t want me rushing back into danger and I totally get that. But I just…I can’t stay here and be cared for and protected and loved when there are so many of my sisters still being held against their will and forced into doing horrible things.

Luckily, the professor seems more understanding of things. But I don’t want him or anyone else here risking their lives for me. If I have to go alone, I will. I don’t know if I can do it alone, though. I’m sure Y/N will insist on tagging along no matter what. I just hope she doesn’t get too grumpy about the whole thing.

Love,

Nat

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

January 4, 2024

Dear Diary,

I still haven’t told Y/N what the professor told me 2 days ago (assuming she hasn’t already gone through my diary and read about it here). I tried to mention it after dinner, but I could tell as soon as I let the “R” word slip she was not paying attention to the conversation anymore. I don’t want my frustration to build up, so I’ll probably have to be straightforward about it, which isn’t easy.

I know the professor can hear all of my thoughts, so I wonder if he’s going to get tired of them and just talk to Y/N himself. But probably not. This is my problem to handle. I’ll find the courage somehow to deal with it. 

I just hope it doesn’t cause Y/N to look down on me for this. I’m already nervous that I’m constantly annoying her, and if she gets fed up enough and kicks me out I will literally have nowhere to go and at that point, I’d welcome back the Red Room with open arms. That probably seems a little dramatic, but I really don’t want to risk losing the best person that ever came into my life. I have Y/N to thank for everything I have here, and I think most people in my position would call me crazy for trying to make any changes to my situation. 

But I’m not like most people. And I have to do what I think is right, even if others try to stop me. 

I’ll bring it up to Y/N later again. Maybe if I catch her in a good mood she’ll be more receptive to the idea. Wishing luck to my future self.

Love,

Nat

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

AN: Please leave likes, comments, and reblog! Follow for more content. 🥰

Multipart sequel in the works!

[scar-lie]

Crazy Love Pt. 2 {Natasha}

Summary : Natasha finally said the unspoken truth

Pairing : Natasha Romanoff x Fem ! Reader

Warning : Torture, blood, screaming, death, suicide

Word count : 5,800

Crazy Love Pt. 1

Crazy Love Pt. 3 Ver. 1

Crazy Love Pt. 3 Ver. 2

Cherrylemontober

NO one has permission to repost my work anywhere, if you see it please let me know.

It's been 5 months since you got away. The slip up of almost getting caught that day wasn't the end of what you're doing. No, not even close, everything just got worse

 Ever since that cursed day, following Natasha's every move was at the top of your list. The need to make sure she was safe was too much to ignore, you needed her safe, no matter the costs

Following her every move also meant witnessing men continuously flirt with her. The flirtatious acts towards Natasha made you angry, you couldn't control it. You really tried to but at the end of every night the man's blood would end up on your hands and another victim would be added to your ledger

It's not like she couldn't sense someone was continuously following and watching her, she is the Black Widow after all. One of the deadliest, sneakiest, and intelligent assassins but at the end of the day you still managed to outsmart her. No matter how hard or close she came to catching you, you would always find a loophole before she could

Tonight isn't any different. As you follow the latest man who harassed her, Natasha, thoughts of what he did swarmed your mind. The image of him cat-calling her as she walked into the party and even slapping her ass after her clear rejection. The guy would not quit and seeing that Steve wasn't there to protect her caused you to get more angry

The image in your head gets more consuming as you finally catch up with him and shove him into an empty alley

"Who the fuck are you," he questions trying to push you off

Instead of verbally answering you drive your fist hard into his stomach causing him to fall on the ground, gasping for air. You grab his head and send a hard punch to his jaw causing him to knock out

You kneel down and force him to sit up to make it easier to pick him up. As you pick him up from the ground you make sure no one is around and start carrying him to your car to put him in the trunk

You then climb into the driver's seat and smirk while you start to drive off, excitement filling your body as you think about the painful punishment awaiting him

"NO, PLEASE STOP!" he exclaims while pain shoots through his body as you run your knife through his body, occasionally adding more pressure to make large gashes

He continues to plead for your mercy while you put the tip of your knife on his thigh and add more pressure, slowly causing it to drive deeper into his skin. As you continue your actions he tries to break away, which is no use due to the ties you put on his wrists and ankles

As he continues to try to move away from you, more cries and pleads leave his mouth as more cuts are made on his skin from the metal bed you tied him to when he was unconscious

 You continue to do this until his body is full of large gashes and cuts. You carve carefully into his skin, making sure the words are visible for when the police find his body

A frown comes across your face as silence surrounds the room, the agonizing screams and begging no longer heard, even as you put the knife deep into his rib cage and twist it

You finally move your gaze to look at his face and huff and shake your head in disappointment as you see him no longer breathing and a slight paleness flooding his face. With a long sigh you roll your eyes and get off of him

From the amount of blood over the scene you could tell he died of blood loss. An annoyed groan escaped your throat

"You could only last ten minutes" You wipe your face with wipes, weighing as you get a sack to put his body inside and in carrying it into the trunk of your car, as you slam the trunk closed you mumble

"Well, that was no fun. I had so many fun plans for you but I guess I'll have to use them on the next douchebag" you quickly climb into the driver side of your car and put it into drive to make your way home

Before arriving at your house, you make a quick detour to dispose of the body. When you finally arrive home you quickly enter and make your way to your bedroom to dispose of your clothes and take a much needed shower

After you finish your shower you quickly change into new clothes and grab the old ones. You quickly go into your living room and start a fire in the fireplace

As the fire starts to grow you throw the clothes into the fire. Burning them was the easiest way to get rid of the blood stained clothes, no traces were left

In the Avengers Compound the team is stressing out due to the uprise of murders that have been going on for the past few months

The Avengers handling murder cases wasn't very common, the police handed the cases over to them due to them not being able to get any leads

The cases were getting worse every month, the only people who would be able to figure this out were the world's mightiest heroes

"Any lead where she could be?" Tony asked, clearly stressed out

The team has been tracking and trying to find where you are but they can't get any direct leads. The air is tense as they try to find a lead, tension fills everyone's body, especially Natasha and Wanda

When the pair figured out it was you behind all of the killings they didn't tell Fury. A divide was made in the team when they confessed to knowing it was you

The others wanted to tell the Director while Clint and Thor agreed with Natasha and Wanda on not telling him. Which is why the heroes are currently fighting with each other

"Nothing," Sam simply said while looking around the room. Steve abruptly got up from his chair

"No one can stop me from telling Fury. It's the right thing to do!" Steve said in a leader voice

"Don't you fucking dare, Steve!" Nat threatens while taking an intimidating step towards him

"Not even you babe, I'm sorry but we have to tell him," Steve said while trying to walk past her but Nat didn't let up and stopped him before he could

"No one will tell this to Fury," Nat exclaimed then that's the start of more chaos

Steve and Nat fall into a screaming match while the others have their own amongst each other. The screaming matches abruptly end when a hologram appears in the middle of the room. Everyone turns their gazes to see Fury standing with his hands behind his back

"Director Fury," Nat says while sending a respectful nod to him, causing everyone else to greet him

"Sorry to bother you all at this time but another victim has been found in the outskirts of the city," he simply states while keeping a stern look. The team all shake their heads as disappointment fills them

Natasha closes her eyes, she can't believe that this is happening, she can't and doesn't want to accept the truth that you're killing people for her, that your love is flooding over you to the point where you would actually kill just for her

She can't believe this because you're her best friend, the person who was always bubbly, cheerful, adorable and sweet

She can't accept that the Y/n she's always known is different now, a crazy person who would kill people just because of a feeling that's supposed to cause happiness in life, the feeling of love

She's so lost in her thoughts that her brain didn't even register that Tony and Steve were telling Fury about you being the murder

Natasha finally got out of her head when she saw Wanda's hands glowing red in her peripheral vision

"How long," Fury sternly asks, causing Nat to quickly sit beside Wanda and hold her hand to calm her down

"Since a few months ago," Bruce mutters while Nat continues to comfort Wanda until the red on her hands and eyes start to slowly fade

"And you just decided to tell me that Y/L/N is the person behind this" Fury sternly questions causing Nat to close her eyes and clenched her jaw, anger coursing through her body

She wants to save you because she knows that the Y/n she knows and loves is still there, Wanda wants to save you too, she believes what Natasha believes, they both have the same reasons and beliefs

They kept talking until the call ended, Wanda quickly pinned them down using her powers, excluding Nat, Clint and Thor

"What the fuck! why did you tell him," Wanda hissed, causing Nat to get in front of her and put her hand on her arm to calm her down

She could tell her powers were too powerful for the boys, their groaning and gasps of pain being enough to tell just how powerful Wanda's powers were

"He- he had the right- to know," Steve gasped out between painful winces, the statement only firing something inside Wanda causing her to hold them even tighter

"Hey, hey Wanda calm down," Nat cups her face, making Wanda's gaze turn to her

Once Wanda's eyes land on Natasha's, she smiles and sends a quick nod, then Wanda starts to slowly calm down causing her powers to fade away until she completely releases them

"We can't hide the fact that it's her forever" Bruce exclaimed while rubbing over the part of his body that Wanda's powers were on

A silence falls over the room as they take a few minutes to catch their breath, not wanting to fight anymore

"So now what?" Nat questions them, still angry. They look at each other having a silent conversation

After a few days of going over the cases, they finally come up with a plan which leads to now

The first part of the plan starts with Tony having one of his huge parties and Nat wearing a sexy revealing dress

Natasha quickly checks around the room to see everyone in position. Nat goes on the dance floor while Steve acts like he's busy with something else

Nat starts to dance while acting drunk causing a man named James to approach her and start to touch her

On the other side of the compound you're hiding with binoculars, you keep your gaze focused on Natasha. Anger starts to bubble in your stomach as you see someone all up on her again

As the scene continues to unfold, his hands continue to wander over her body causing your blood to boil, you quickly glance at Steve to see him busy doing something else

It goes on until the party starts to slowly die down, you keep an eye on the guy while keeping an eye on Natasha

Once you see that the guy is walking on the dark side of the compound you quickly go to him and knock him out, you pick him up and start to go to your car but before you get a chance to take another step the team corners you

The team's plan goes according to plan, James, the guy who was set to flirt and harass Natasha, is an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D (Clint's friend)

The plan was to let James act like an awful man who would harass Nat, the team would act like they don't know what is happening and when the party dies down James will be the last to go out. The team got in position and stood by the corner you were in and boom, they surrounded you

"Y/N" Natasha whispers

You look at the team and smirk, you drop James on the ground and chuckle, patting down your clothes to fix the wrinkles

"Long time no see guys" you enthusiastically exclaim with a grin on your face

"Y/N/N please, just stop this," Wanda whispers pleadingly, only loud enough for you to hear

You turn to her and smile sweetly, you take a step but Vision and Bucky stop you, Bucky points his gun and Vision puts his strong arm in front of you, you look at it and chuckle

"Don't you dare take another step," Tony hisses, pointing his repulser at you. You turn to him with innocent eyes

"Why Dad?" you question keeping an innocent look

"Am I in trouble? I didn't break one of your suits, nor interrupt you from your lab" you spit out the last part with a sweet voice

He shook his head at your antics, he loves you so much, he treated you like his own daughter. When you mentioned the last sentence, memories of when you were happy swarmed his mind

"Stop it" he bites out

"You're not her! I don't want to hurt anyone to get hurt, especially you but you're leaving us no choice here Y/N" Tony tries to bargain while looking at you again causing his eyes to fill with anger when he realizes you're not the same person anymore

"Awh, you're all so sweet," you sarcastically exclaim through gritted teeth with a smile on your face while your gaze is set on them

"Just surrender Y/N," Natasha says with a pleading tone and eyes

"You know that I love you so much Nat, I can give you the world, that's how much I love you! I'm willing to do everything for you but I'm so sorry my love, I love you Nat" you confess with a loving tone while staring into her eyes. As soon as she smiles and tries to take a step towards you, you drop the smile and look at her with an emotionless gaze. You wanted to fall into this, fall into her, but deep down you knew that it was a trap. You may be crazy for her love but you're not dumb, as soon as Natasha sees your change in emotion she frowns at you

"But you can't fool me" you lowly say, you then throw a gas bomb at your feet and as soon the gas spreads you quickly bring everyone down, some try to stop you but you dodge their moves

When the gas starts to fade you quickly run away from them. Bruce, Sam, Bucky and Vision groan and wince holding onto themselves due to you injuring them. Nat, Steve, Tony, Wanda, Clint and Thor weren't affected so they chased after you

As you're running Tony lands in front of you and tries to hit you with his repulser, you dodge it and with your skills you manage to take his mask and turn off his suit, as you're about to stab him in the thigh, Steve grabs you and throws you in a tree

You groan while standing up, Clint approaches you and tries to bring you down but you quickly slip him off of his feet and slice the side of his rib cage and stab him under his collar bone, seeing Clint on the ground, Steve and Tony try to bring you down

You fight with them, they are strong but you manage to get off of them and run again then Thor tries to hit you with his thunder but when he's busy summoning his power you throw two daggers at him and it lands on his right bicep and the side of his abdomen

Tony, Steve, and Wanda quickly approach you to try to end this. As Tony approached you, you noticed how he had his suit back on which didn't matter because you took it off of him and stabbed him in the hip and threw him into the tree

You're near your exit, but Steve stops you, you both exchange punches until Nat joins too. They try to bring you down but fail, you know them very well, reading what their next move would be was a big advantage for you

Steve gets a hold of you and Nat is gonna put you to sleep but you have other plans, you pout at her and laugh like a crazy person

"I love you Natasha but," as you trail off you use Steve as strength and kick Natasha to her face making her nose bleed and slam down on the ground

You jump Steve's back and quickly stab him on the back of his hip and tase him making him fall to the ground. Wanda quickly comes into your view, you look at her with a pout then smile, her eyes glow red while she starts to form an energy ball, you gasp at it like you're surprised at what she's doing

"You know my dear friend, you're late for the fight and now an energy ball, seriously?" You laugh at her actions causing her to look at you with anger in her eyes

"You leave me no choice Y/N, I don't want to do this but I have to" she continues to form the energy ball to throw it at you but stops when you state something that makes her question herself

"You have to because that's what they ordered you to do Wanda! Look at what happened to your dear brother, he died because you both followed Ultron, you both helped him take the whole city of Sokovia down, if you both didn't take orders, there would've been no war in Sokovia," you bitterly exclaim with a smile causing Wanda to get lost in her mind

"That's enough!" Natasha exclaims through gritted teeth

She then uses one of her widow bites on you causing you to fall to the ground. You quickly take it off and slowly stand up, you look at her with an emotionless expression

That's when Natasha realized that fighting with you will never change your mind but what she did next really shocked you

"Y/N, I'm not gonna fight you, okay," she said softly while taking off her widow bites and taking her guns and knives off of her body and resting them on the ground. She then stands up with hand in the air, showing you her surrender

"Let's talk, please," she says with a pleasing tone

"I'm not gonna fight you, I promise" You didn't buy it but you just look at her and she sends you a pleading nod

"Okay, it's fine if you keep your weapons, but please" she says while starting to take a step towards you causing your body to get into alert mode

Noticing this she stops to let you adjust to her, when she knows that you're okay she starts to walk towards you slowly again, you let her until she's in front of you. Tears fall down her eyes causing you to wipe them with your thumb, she then cups your face and sniffles while smiling at you

"Please stop this, this is madness, this is not the Y/n I know," she whispers, searching in your eyes for any sign of the Y/n she knows but she couldn't find the spark you used to hold in your eyes. She couldn't find you in them anymore

"I'm willing to do anything to protect you, those guys" you trail off trying to contain yourself

"They deserved to die" you whisper lowly and your eyes turn soft

Nat smiles as she notices the shift in your expression, hoping that the 1% of her Y/n will be enough to get through to you, she'll take that small chance to bring you back

"I know but you don't have to do that" she caresses your cheeks with her thumb and smiles at you

"You're a hero Y/n, you're not the Villain. You do good things for people, you don't go around killing people like that" she whispers softly and puts her forehead on yours, you close your eyes and feel the connection, you even drop the knife you held in your hand

"I'm just doing what I know is right" you whisper while looking at her eyes. You're so lost in the moment that you crash your lips on hers

Shock runs through Natasha's body while anger starts to bubble in her chest, unable to contain herself she harshly pushes you off

Guilt starts to cloud her brain as she starts to feel like she cheated on Steve which causes her to get more angry

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO!" she shouts while wiping her lips. Her lashing out causes you to go back to your crazy side, you chuckle and shrug your shoulders

"I just kissed you my love-" Before you could finish your sentence she cuts you off

"DON'T FUCKING CALL ME THAT! I'M NOT YOUR LOVER AND WILL NEVER  BE! YOU'RE A FUCKING KILLER!" As she shouts in your face, no emotion is seen on yours which causes Natasha to get even more angry

"YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT'S BEST FOR ME?!" she questions

"YOU KILL EVERY MAN WHO LAY THEIR HANDS ON ME BUT YOU KNOW WHO YOU NEED TO KILL NEXT?!" she bitterly questions, completely losing her composure. You keep your silence causing Nat to go on

"YOUR FUCKING SELF! YOU'RE A FUCKING KILLER!, YOU THINK THEY ARE DANGEROUS FOR ME?! WHAT IF I GOT WITH YOU?!" she exclaims with venom filled in her tone

"I WOULD CHOOSE TO BE WITH ANY OF THOSE MEN OVER YOU BECAUSE YOU'RE THE MOST DANGEROUS PERSON!" she shouts pointing her finger in your chest aggressively causing Wanda to snap out of her thoughts and watch what was going on

"YOU'RE A CRAZY, DANGEROUS, KILLER. THE WORLD WOULD BE A BETTER PLACE WITHOUT YOU IN IT!" she exclaims again, finally taking a deep breath to gather herself

"Stop following me, killing for me and most importantly stop loving me because I will never love you the way you want me to" she hisses out bitterly

You stand there, taking everything she said in, Wanda just stands there gulping at what Natasha said, she doesn't want to get in between this so she chooses to stay out of it

"Is that really what you want?" you ask with an emotionless tone

She looks at you with confusion, but nods frantically and Wanda bites her lips alternating her gaze between the both of you

"Yes! Yes that's what I want" she said still angry causing you to simply nod at her

"Okay" you simply state and then throw a small chip at Wanda causing her to fall to the ground and tase Natasha in the neck making her go weak

"But I will never surrender myself to you" you simply state, you run off until you approach your emergency vehicle, it was a black 2020 BMW R1250 RS

Once you get in the vehicle you quickly drive off, away from them and make sure that no one's following you. Once you confirm you're not being followed you speed off to your house

It's been a week now and the team stressed at first that you got away but it was a relief when no new victims were found, it makes them think that you stop but they are still trying to find you

They want to see and talk to you in a good way, not like your last encounter, they keep looking for you

But Natasha is so bother at where you at and the package you send to her the night after the fight, it was a small box with full of the flower of a cherry blossom tree and a note, she don't want to open it so she don't know what it is but she always keep it on her pocket

Then Wanda is so lost in her head, after the fight she feels something wasn't right after that she feels all of your connection to her is gone, and it makes her worried and drives her crazy, she just wishes that you're ok

"Finally!" Tony shouts and writes down the address of your house, everyone goes to him

"What? What is it?" Natasha asked frantically and Steve rubbed her arm

"I finally found her" Tony said and gave the address to them, Natasha quickly read it out loud

"What are we waiting for? let's go!" Wanda quickly said, getting anxious at what will happen next, she doesn't have a good feeling, she tried to connect to you for weeks now but she just can't, it's like you just vanished

"Ok let's go" They all said and quickly got to their cars, Steve, Natasha, Wanda and Vision are in one car then Bucky, Sam, Thor, Clint and Bruce are in the other car together and well, Tony is in his sports car alone

They speed off in your location, the others are happy that they will finally find where you are but not Wanda, she truly feels something is wrong, and she can't lose you cause you're the only one who's left of her family, she see you as a sister

Once they got in the house, it was quiet, the house was silent and like it's no life, it's not lively, the plants are already dead, dried leaves are scattered around the house, it's like someone abandoned it

"Ok, let's go" Bucky said, scanning the house

They nod and go to your front door, they knock but no one's opening the door nor no sounds inside the house, they look at each other worried

"Let's just go in" Sam suggests and Steve nods since he's in the front and he opens it

They frown at the door isn't lock, they got in and the scan the house, the house is neat, no object are out of place, the house looks like your style so they know it's yours, but it have dust that confused them cause you're the person who's organized and clean, who leaves no sign of trash nor a single dust in your place

"Ok scattered around" Nat said and they nod, Nat and Wanda go up with Bucky and Vision and they divide into two so Wanda and Nat wonder at the right side

They see nothing, so the guys go up and meet Bucky and Vision so they go to Wanda and Nat, then they hear a loud thud and scream of Wanda, they quickly run to where the sound is, clearly worried, and they burst into your room

They see Natasha and Wanda are on the floor, frozen while looking up, Wanda is screaming and trying to get out of Natasha's embrace while Natasha holds Wanda tightly

The woman was both crying, while Wanda screamed, agonizing that everybody's heart broke. Once the guys saw what it was, they were shocked

Steve, Bucky, Bruce and Sam shook their heads while tears ran down to their cheeks, their eyes glued to what was in front of them, crying specially Tony, his heart wreck

"NO NO NO NOOOOOOOO!" Thor shouts and the cloud turns to dark gray and thunder are everywhere, starting a thunderstorm

They see you, see you hanging in the ceiling, blood is already dried in your body and on the floor, that night until the other day, all is in your head is what Natasha said and what she wants

You didn't refer at what the last thing she said, your asking if she truly want for you to kill yourself, so when you confirm it, you think of it over night until you hang a rope in the ceiling of your bedroom and hang yourself there but not before torturing yourself too like you did to the others

"NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOO!" Wanda screams and gives up, leaning on Natasha and crying on her arm

Natasha acts strong but deep inside her, she's so broken, she picks Wanda up and goes out of the house to their car and they cry there but Natasha tries to comfort her, cause she knows how you meant to her

While the two women crying in the car, Steve and Bucky bring your body down, then they bring you to the compound and clean you up, only a woman who's not related to you cleans you up cause Nat or Wanda can't look at you

They mourn for you that day until you're already clean. They go to you and look at you, when they see you they finally see your innocent face

Memories flashing back to their head and tears falling, all the happy memories are coming back to their head, and it breaks their heart to see you like this, that you took your own life

Once they are around you they take the white fabric covering your body and you're wearing a white sando and shorts

That's when they saw the carved words, it was all over your body, they gasped at it, Natasha's world crashed when she saw it

'Killer' 'Crazy' 'Dangerous' are carved in you, all over your body, from head to toe

The night of your fight flash back on Natasha's head, when she lashed out at you and what she said, she gasped at it and just got out there

She can't handle it all, it's so overwhelming for her, so she got on her motorbike and went to one place you both love, it was a special place cause that's where you both always spend your free time and make happy memories

She goes to the mountain where you can see the city, you both even build a little tree house there and plant flowers there

Once she got there she got to the edge and sat there, that's where you both sit, but today she sat at your side, at the right one

She sobs there, she lets her emotion out there and holds her chest at how painful it is. The memory of her telling you what you are and what you should do that night is repeating in her head like her favorite movie that she didn't get tired watching

She keeps crying there, she take all of her emotion out there, she even throw a rocks and scream at the top of her long until her body collapsed on the ground, she sob there pouring all of her emotions that she never let anyone see it and let them to know it excluding you, your the only person she can be who she is and show every part of her

Until she brings out the note you sent to her, out in her pocket then she slowly opens it with her shaky hands and reads what you wrote

She thinks that she can't cry anymore, she thinks that all of her tears are all pour out but once she read what you wrote she sobs at it and more tears come out, while clinging the note to her chest with a shattered heart

I'll always do what you wantYour wish is my commandBye. Natalia

She cries there, she cries her eyes out, her heart sting more at the use of her birth name, you never used it before, it has always been Nat, Natty, Tasha or other pet names she loves but this? This broke her heart more than before, this is the first time she cried like this, like the half of her life ripped out of her, like someone took that away from her, when you took your own life, you bring the half of Natasha with you

You're her best friend, her buddy, her partner of crime, you show her love, you're the one who make her believe that she's not just capable but she also allowed to love someone, your the one who show her that love isn't just for children, Natasha's life is full of darkness, traumas and bad thing that hunt her but when she see you, when you come to her life, your the highlight of her life

You take all her worries away, because of you, her past never hunted her, she feels like all her life are all happy, you're the most important person in the world to Natasha, she will do anything to protect you cause you saved her, you saved her in any possible way

But she failed to protect you, even worse she's the reason why you took your own life, she killed you, and now this will forever haunt her until she dies

"I'm-I'm so........sorry bub, I'm so sorry I didn't protect you!" she whispered crying

She screamed at the top of her lungs, it was so agonizing, that if anyone will heard her will break

Your death will hunt her every night, every hours, minutes and seconds, she will never forget this day

[comicaurora]

Have you ever notices the weird trait that a lot of the mytic Greek monsters are decendents, or otherwise related to posiden (all sea beasts, cyclops, medusa, minotaur ect) were mostly slain by children of zeus? The rest of the mytic Greek hero's mostly slayed children of typhon and echidna.

Do you think this is somthing to do with the fact that posiden used to the ruler of mychnain pantheon, and zuse took over, so the mytology reflected this by having posiden monster children slain by the heroic children of zeus?

Have you ever noticed any similar patters in mythology involving the chainge of the dominat god?

It's hard to say! The Mycenaean pantheon is very poorly understood since we don't have anything like the corpus of literature we have from Archaic Greece, and as far as I can tell it's mostly been reconstructed from ledgers and the equivalent of receipts - this many jars of stuff to the temple of this god in this region, etc etc. And the idea that Poseidon was central - while apparently widely accepted - doesn't really tell us how Poseidon was characterized back in those days, or how (or if) things shifted to be Zeus-centric later on.

And in the broad scale, it's hard to know for sure if a pantheon's myths reflect an actual shift in what the dominant/central god being worshipped was, or if something else was going on. Mythology rarely maps one-to-one to the historical events it was running in parallel to. There are lots of mythologies with god wars or former leaders of the gods being replaced - Tyr with Odin, Nuada with Lugh, Ra getting merged with a half-dozen different gods to give them his oomph and authority at various times - and it's not clear when a god conflict reflects a real religious shift in who's being worshipped and when it's something else. For instance, classical Greek mythology has loads of themes of sons usurping fathers, starting with Kronos usurping Ouranos and followed by Zeus usurping Kronos - but it doesn't seem like Kronos was historically worshipped in the time before Zeus or anything that simple and clean. Kronos doesn't seem to pre-exist that space of mythology at all.

However, there are tidbits in Greek mythology where a god kills a monster and takes up residence in their place of power, like Apollo killing Python - a monstrous child of Gaia that seems to have potentially been actually worshipped for oracular reasons before Apollo showed up and took over, which would make it a mythical parallel to a real shift in local religious practices. Although again, that is very hard to confirm (and some of the researchers who think that seem to wanna believe it because it very conveniently lets them tie it in with the bible)

this kind of thing is why the deep-dives are my favorite kind of nightmare to subject myself to

So it's hard to say if a myth of a conflict between gods reflects a real-world conflict between religious practices, but all that said, that is a very interesting pattern to note - that Poseidon is more consistently a father of monsters, while Zeus is almost universally a father of heroes.

[honeysickledream]

'Overgrown'| Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader | Chapter Six

[photo cred: me | dividers by: @/saradika-graphics]

tags: Medieval/Middle Ages-ish AU, lots of fluff, some past family hurts / a sprinkle of angst, everyone is healing slowly, domesticity, moving and future planning

w/c: 1.4k

a/n: no spice, mainly driven by the apartment and job hunting i've started doing this past month or so. holy shit life's been a bitch and this has taken me a month and some change to write, but i wrote it anyways. hope y'all enjoy (i'm gonna go study for my last exam of the season)

Chap 1. | Chap 2. | Chap 3. | Chap 4. | Chap 5. || AO3

“He moved away,” you remembered Simon telling you, “right after the old man passed. Tommy took his wife and little Joseph and left a few hours later. They’d been plannin’ the move for ages, ever since our father got ill, but they never told me. Woke up the next day and…they were gone. Thought they’d gone to the lake a few miles east, so I checked there but no one had seen ‘em. Tavern wasn’t open, the inn’s ledger didn’t have their names or Tommy’s pseudonym. A week later, I got a letter from ‘im. Livin’ close to London, new life and no specters loomin’ over them. Joseph was sleepin’ well, Beth could finally relax her shoulders, and Tommy’d taken up apprenticin’ with a blacksmith like he’d always wanted to do. No invitation to join ‘em, to even visit ‘em. Haven’t seen ‘em since—Joseph’s probably…he’s probably a man now, nearly twenty? Wouldn’t recognize me even if I had a sign around my neck listin’ our memories together.”

You watched as Simon brought the last of his clothes to the wash basin you were bent over. He’d decided that all linens from the larger bedroom needed to be washed thoroughly before they even caught a glimpse of your bedroom—which was now his, too. Every time he walked out of the old room, he wore a grimace and shuddered as if something cold passed through him. The specters of his past did, you supposed. Even you couldn’t enter the main bedroom without feeling a crushing weight on your shoulders.

Though he didn’t bring it up, you knew he was wondering if you’d given thought to moving out of the cabin and into town. To your credit, you were thinking about it, perhaps too much. How much it would cost, the physical and emotional labor of the move, and the changes to routines it would bring kept you awake at night and distracted you while you cleaned. You had a lovely scar forming on your palm from when your thoughts wandered too far while you were slicing apples to have with dessert.

You knew you wanted to move, for him mainly. You wanted the man you loved—even if you hadn’t said it outright yet—to sleep through the night and be unburdened. But there was information you needed, the security of knowing there was a solid plan and a handful of contingencies to support it, before you could jump into something so large. So, when he sat across the wash basin from you to sort through the sopping heap of clean clothes, you told him as much. He listened well, something you loved about him, and agreed with you on everything but the timing. Sooner, rather than later, was the request he firmly refused to change. You made it perfectly clear to him that if he wanted to live somewhere else soon, there could be no buying of the first available house. That the ‘somewhere else’ couldn’t be rundown or have suspicious airs about it. That earned a laugh from him that had your skin warming and your heart clenching.

“Price and ‘is wife have offered me a position at their tavern when we find a house we like. I’d be workin’ nights, mainly keepin’ an eye on patrons and stoppin’ any fights, and it would give me time during the day to set up the house,” Simon told you as he climbed into bed, freshly bathed and thoroughly exhausted from his day of looking at the few available homes in town.

You rolled to face him. Guilt lingered in your mind, he’d been doing all the looking while you tended to your patients and worked on packing things in the cabin for the eventual move. No matter how many times he told you to not feel guilt, your mind did the opposite and piled more of the sickening feeling on you. “And have you found a house?”

“There’s one I’m keen on. Two streets down from that bakery ya love and close enough to the town square that runnin’ to market or goin’ to see your patients won’t be a hike-and-a-half.” He traced your cheek with the back of his finger. “When ya go on your rounds tomorrow, I’ll come with. We can see it together, maybe see some others.”

“And there’s no issue with cost?”

That lop-sided grin that fixed the world even on the worst of days appeared. “My love,” Simon gave the tip of your nose a peck, “money’ll never be an issue for us. My father was many things—many horrible things—but one of the few positives about him was his money sense. He made a big show about gamblin’, drinkin’, whorin’ even, but he saved where he could—where it counted. The only thing I got from him that I like is that.”

“It’s a good trait.” You rolled the rest of the way, lying mostly on top of him. These days his body was always warm, and the harder edges were softening here and there. “Your warmth is another one. No fire could compare to this comfort.”

He hummed and began trailing the tips of his fingers along your spine. The sweet touch sent pleasant shivers throughout your body and you snuggled into him further. “You’re the cause of my warmth. Feedin’ me all that good food, makin’ sure I always have enough. I like it.”

You gave a simple ‘mhm’ and let your eyes fall shut. Simon only woke up once that night from a bad dream and, when he managed to bring himself fully into reality, fell asleep quickly to your musing about a possible life in town. He was healing, on his own and with your help. He showed you it was possible even if it wasn’t easy.

Just the outside appearance of the house he was keen on showed you why. Dark stone and wood exterior with textured glass windows and pretty shutters. The front door was heavy and the locks were new—Simon cited that as one of his favorite things since it meant you were more likely to be safe if someone tried to intrude. You had no complaints about the first floor, save for the dust but it wouldn’t take you more than half a day to get rid of it with Simon’s help.

The kitchen was spacious and the larder was nearly twice the size of one in the cabin. There was a proper dining room, too, and you couldn’t help but imagine all the meals and conversations that would be possible. Hosting Simon’s friends, the few apprentice midwives, even your siblings and their newish families, would be easy in terms of space. There’d be no need to worry about people nearly sitting on top of others or feeling crowded and uncomfortable.

Your favorite room, so far, was the parlor. It had a large fireplace, room for more than just an arm chair and modest settee. The walls had enough room for bookshelves and a trunk or two full of your knitting and embroidery materials. Given all the room, you’d be able to teach Simon a simple dance or two to do at festivals and there’d be plenty of room for your nieces and nephews to run around and cause havoc. The upstairs was nice, too, and spacious as well. Three bedrooms, one of which could be made into a study or some kind of workshop while. The second largest bedroom would be reserved for guests and if your sleep schedule fell out of line with Simon’s.

Muscled arms wrapped around you, tugging you back against Simon’s front and away from all your planning. “Like it?” he asked.

“Mhm. It’s pretty, nice location in town like you mentioned, and it doesn’t seem like it would be a nightmare to keep clean if we both tackle the chores like we’ve been doing,” you said. “I think we should make it ours.”

He dragged you towards the front door, throwing it up and holding you tightly in the doorway. Neither of you seemed to care much that a few people stopped to see the sight as Simon pressed his lips sweetly and softly to yours, a blessing of sorts for the future. By the end of the week, you and Simon were proud new owners of a beautiful home and a truly brand new start.

[dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd]

How would Joker feel if Y/n died? Can you write something for this?

My Everything

Ledger!Joker x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Death, mention of suicide, violence

Summary: Y/n is killed by one of Joker’s many enemies and as we can all predict, J loses his everloving mind

Author’s Note: Thank you thank you thank you for this request beloved anon!!!! This has been my favorite thing I’ve ever written so far. And also the longest I’ve wrote in one sitting. I’m so proud of myself, I wrote almost 4000 words! I need to do that more often.

This is going to be an angsty one. But it’s not all bad. My oc Matilda makes her debut and there’s a ton of bromance going on between J and his right hand man. As always, enjoy! <3

Taglist: @alittlesmartcookie @unholiiness

“She’s gone…she’s…she’s…” Joker mumbled to himself.

The phone slipped out of his hand and clattered onto the floor. He sat down on a chair and stared out into space, disassociating. 

Frost noticed his boss from across the room. He knew those distant eyes from anywhere. It only meant trouble.

“Boss! Boss! Snap out of it!” He shouted.

Joker jumped up out of the chair. He grabbed Frost by his shirt collar and shook him in anger.

“What the fuck happened, Frost?! How did they get to her?!” Joker thundered.

“I-I don’t know! There’s no way they could’ve gotten past the security we set up. I’m just as shocked as you are!” Frost pleaded his case.

Joker grumbled and released him, sending him tumbling to the floor. Frost was right. Nothing was out of the ordinary. The security and all the cameras J had set up for your apartment were all working fine that day.

Joker stormed into the control room with Frost tagging along right behind him. He scanned the footage from that day and stopped when he saw movement around 2 pm. No wonder the cameras didn’t catch anything. You had left the apartment.

He felt a sharp pang of guilt. He shouldn’t have left you alone for so long. If he had been home or nearby he could’ve saved you. 

Frost’s phone dinged and he glanced at it. He looked up at Joker gravely.

“They found her body. She’s in the boardroom.”

Joker didn’t say a word and marched straight out of the control room into the boardroom. He pushed open the double doors and walked up to the table. His henchmen backed away in fear. 

Your body was placed carefully on the table. You looked so pale, your hair was a mess, and you were splattered with blood. Clearly you didn’t go down without a fight. Joker felt a lump form in his throat. He hated himself for letting this happen to you.

As Joker observed, Frost came into the room behind him and motioned for the goons to leave before things got ugly. The men cleared out and Frost walked up to Joker. 

“Um, boss, what do we do now?” He asked.

Joker turned and looked at him solemnly. “I don’t know…”

They stared at the table in silence for a while. Joker couldn’t stand it. A surge of rage swept over him and he slammed his fist on the table, causing Frost to jump.

“Keep her here. I’m going out. I’ll figure out what to do with her later and give her a proper burial and all…” Joker trailed off.

Frost nodded.

Joker grabbed his jacket off of a hook on the wall, threw it on, and rushed out the doors. He had no idea where he was going but he had to get away from this. He ran down the sidewalk, his brain moving a hundred miles an hour. His worst fear had come true. You were taken from him in cold blood. 

The crisp Gotham night air burned in his lungs as he ran. Long before he donned his Joker persona, running had always helped him clear his head. The adrenaline was a temporary relief from the pain.

It was dark, not many people lived in this area, and he was wearing casual clothes so he didn’t have to worry about being seen. Not that he cared. Nothing mattered anymore.

Joker gave one last burst of energy and stopped, panting. He ended up on the west side of Gotham harbor. A bridge was a few feet ahead. He walked up to the railing and gazed out over the water. The moon cast a shimmering reflection on top.

He sighed. Nights like this reminded him so much of you. You loved to go on walks through the park or other scenic spots in Gotham on cool, clear nights, holding his hand and skipping down the sidewalk without a care in the world.

You were his light in the dark places, his rock, his everything. You showed him real genuine love and compassion. You made him feel alive again. Now you were gone and he would never forgive himself. 

He breathed heavily as he felt the intense emotions weigh down on him. His first response to your death was shock and then fury but now the reality of the situation hit him and he broke down. He felt his breathing hitch and tears form. He blinked them away with a snarl of disgust. He would not succumb to such weakness!

But he underestimated the effect you had on him and felt the anguish come surging back. Then Joker did something he hadn’t in years. 

He began to cry. 

It started out soft but the more the tears fell, the louder he wept. These tears were long overdue. So much pain over the years but he could only think about you. 

“Oh God, why? Why her?” Joker sobbed.

He looked out over the water again, letting his misty eyes wander down to the base of the bridge. The waves crashed against the stone pillars holding the bridge up. Clusters of giant rocks lined the two banks. It was at least 30 feet down.

He felt the sudden urge to jump. He rejected it at first. He wasn’t done yet. He still had many years of causing chaos left but then he thought of how different his life was going to be. 

No more beautiful smiles to come home to after a gruesome day’s work. No more warm cozy mornings spent cuddling with you. No more late night strolls at the park. No more shared laughter. No more y/n…

A life without you wasn’t worth living. So he went for it. He turned his back to the water, spread his arms out wide, looked to the sky, and fell backwards. He closed his eyes as he went over the railing. 

The sound of the crashing waves got closer and closer until…silence.

…

Joker opened his eyes and looked around groggily. He was strapped to a bed and hooked up to several things in Arkham’s infirmary. At first he didn’t fully grasp what he was seeing. Then it hit him. He regained his senses and jolted as upright as the restraints would allow him. He wriggled around and struggled against them.

A nurse came running in and grabbed his shoulders, trying to calm him down. Joker recognized her as Matilda.

“J, relax. It’s alright.” His favorite nurse said gently as she eased him back. 

“No, no, no! It’s not alright! It’s…it’s…” He struggled to get his words out and panted.

Matilda rubbed his back in another attempt to calm him. 

“You have got to calm down, honey. You’re hooked up to a heart monitor. It starts going off and they’re all gonna come running in here like chickens with their heads cut off.” 

Joker breathed in and out and tried to think clearly. His head was spinning with a sensory and information overload.

“Why am I here? What happened?” He blurted out.

“They found you at the bottom of the bridge at the harbor last night. You jumped.” Matilda responded calmly. 

Joker groaned as the events from the previous day came back to him. He woke up thinking it was all just one horrible nightmare but once again reality came crashing down. 

“Why did you do it?” Matilda asked.

Joker looked up at her with sorrowful watery eyes. The older woman had never seen such a look on his scarred face before. 

“My sweet girl, my y/n, she’s…she’s dead.” He mumbled.

He was delirious with grief. Matilda could see that now. Under normal circumstances, he would never have shown such emotion. 

And hold up, the Joker in love with someone? It seemed so unbelievable. Throughout all of his time in Arkham he’d never once mentioned this girl to Matilda. Most likely to keep her safe and hidden.

“Who was y/n? A lover? A girlfriend?” Matilda questioned him.

“She was my everything…my special treasure that made me feel again. She never hurt anybody. She didn’t deserve this.” 

“I’m so sorry, J. She sounded like a wonderful person. Listen, I know you’re still grieving but try not to think about it too much. You need to rest. You hit those rocks pretty hard. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

“But I can’t stop thinking about her. It feels like a part of me has been ripped out of my chest.” Joker whined.

“I know dear, but you mustn't dwell on it too much if you’re going to recover. Just lay here and rest. Your body will thank you for it.” 

“Okay…” Joker murmured as she pulled the blanket resting on his legs up over his chest and then left the room to finish her rounds. 

The rest of the day Joker laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. All he could think about was you. Your absence felt like a gaping hole in his heart.

A few other nurses came by throughout to check on him. He didn’t speak a word to them. They didn’t either. He let them do their job and get out. Normally he would torment them by being difficult or teasing them but this time he just didn’t have the energy. 

That evening he grew restless. 

What am I doing here moping around? I should be out there getting even!

It had just occurred to him that by giving up he was letting your murderer go free. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? He would not allow that. He was extremely glad he didn’t die. Even if he didn’t think of it when caught up in the moment, it would haunt him forever that your killer got away.

Sofia Falcone and her lackeys would pay. But first, Joker needed to escape.

He waited until a young nurse came in a little later to give him a sedative that would help him sleep. Before she could prepare the syringe, he looked up at her innocently. 

“Um, nurse, can you loosen these straps? They’re really botherin’ me.” He asked nicely.

The nurse laughed to herself. “Ha. You think I’m gonna loosen your restraints? No way. Nice try though.”

“Please? Just a little bit…” He said and stared her down with his big pleading brown eyes. This was when his handsomeness really came in handy. 

The nurse sighed. “Well, okay. But only a little bit.”

She bent down and loosened the buckles on his wrists a notch or two. When she came back up, Joker head butted her and she collapsed onto the ground. 

He slipped his hands free from the straps and unbuckled his feet. Then he unhooked himself from the different monitors and quickly took his IV out. He grabbed the nurse’s badge and keys and sprinted out the door. 

Luckily, the infirmary was close to the back entrance so he could get out much faster than if he was coming from his cell. He dashed down the stairs to the ground level and through the halls, shoving a few nurses out of the way as he went. He had a small limp in his leg but other than that he was able to run just fine.

How did I survive that fall? He thought as he ran. 

He made it to the double doors of the back entrance and used the nurse’s badge for the identification scanner that unlocked them. Regardless, someone must have reported him because the alarm went off anyway. So much for stealth.

“Screw this.” Joker muttered and ran into the parking lot. 

He used the nurse’s car keys to find which one was hers. A small white car flashed in response. It wasn’t much but it would have to do. He hurried over to it, climbed in, started the engine, and took off. He made it to the gate and sped through just as another car came through the opening. The guard stationed there just sat there dumbfounded.

Joker flew across the bridge and into the mainland where the cops were waiting. He groaned loudly in frustration but kept going. He drove straight towards them as bullets whizzed past his head through the windshield and the windows. Then he made a sharp turn and went around the blockade of cars. 

The police hopped in their cars and sped after him. Joker weaved in and out of other cars as he drove into the city. He made turn after turn and took back alley after back alley, trying to lose them. Finally, he crashed into a dumpster in an alleyway, crawled out of the car, and hopped the fence before the cops could get there. 

He ran down the sidewalk, unsure of what to do now. He hadn’t planned this far ahead. There was a very high chance they were going to catch him and drag his ass back to Arkham. He couldn’t let that happen.

Suddenly a black car pulled up beside him. The driver rolled down the window and shouted, “Get in!” 

Joker breathed a sigh of relief and climbed in. It was Frost, there to save the day like always. Frost made a quick glance to the passenger seat as he sped off. Joker was wearing white scrubs, no makeup, his hair was everywhere, he was covered in bruises, his forehead had a bandaged gash on it, and his lip was busted.

Frost chuckled. “You look like shit.”

“I’m aware…” Joker grumbled.

“I saw the escape on the news so I figured you needed some help. And I also saw that you, uh, well…I’m just glad you’re still here, boss.”

“Aw, quit your blubbering and drive, Frost. I’m fine. I won’t try it again. Y/n wouldn’t want me to.”

Frost nodded and looked into the side mirror. The cops had gone in the other direction so he slowed down a bit. A few minutes later he made it to the hideout. He pulled into the garage and parked. 

Joker thrust the door open and made a beeline for his office/sometimes living space. He desperately wanted to get cleaned up and change his clothes. He shut his office door and flung the closet open. There were spare suits and casual clothes hanging in there. He grabbed his signature purple suit and laid it out on the desk to change into. 

He walked into the built-in bathroom in his office and locked the door. He ripped the bandage off his head and examined the gash. 

Yeesh. That’s nasty. He thought as he threw the gauze away. 

He turned on the shower and stripped off as he waited on the water to warm up. He looked at his body in the mirror. His body was dotted with bruises and small cuts. He still had no clue how he survived that fall.

Once the shower was ready, Joker hopped in and started washing himself off. He didn’t know why but Arkham always made him feel dirty. Whether it be the combined smell of bleach and vomit or those itchy patient scrubs. 

The hot water stung his wounds a little but Joker relished in it. The water comforted him and soothed his aching muscles. The last two days had been hell. This was a temporary escape from his current circumstances.

Joker finally returned to the real world and shut off the water. He staggered out and dried himself off. Then he secured a bandaid on the gash and slathered white paint over it, quickly reapplied his makeup, and dyed his hair green again. When he was done he wrapped the towel around his waist and walked back into his office. He dressed himself, careful not to smudge his makeup too much.

He went to the lounge room, where Frost was sitting on the couch drinking some coffee. He looked up and waited for Joker to speak.

“Go call everyone together for a meeting. We’re nailing that bitch.” Joker ordered gruffly.

“Yes sir.” Frost replied and hopped to it. 

Not long after, the goons were all seated in the boardroom as Joker had requested. He walked in and the whole room fell silent. All eyes were on him. He cleared his throat.

“As some of you are already aware, something very important to me has been…taken. Sofia Falcone is responsible. And as you all know, we’ve been waging in a bit of a war for years now. I did a pretty good job eliminating Gotham’s mob but then she came along and rebuilt her father’s empire, encouraging others to rebuild and ruining all my hard work. This is the final straw. We’re going to storm her headquarters tonight and destroy it along with everyone inside.”

The men cheered but quickly silenced themselves when both Joker and Frost glared at them.

As Joker laid out the plans, Frost couldn’t help but feel a knot of fear turn his stomach. The Falcones were dangerous. It was a suicide mission. The majority of the goons were probably going to get killed. Joker knew that but it didn’t matter. He had to avenge y/n or die. Frost came to terms with it, deciding it was a noble cause.

Once everyone was armed and ready to go, they all piled into the four black cars lined up in the garage. Joker and Frost got in the last car in line and took off. To not draw attention to themselves by traveling as a group, the cars each headed out in different directions but were all going to the same place. When they reached the Falcone base of operations (an abandoned club), the cars pulled in towards the back of the building. They walked up to the door and waited for Joker’s instructions.

Joker stood up on the steps and looked over all of his men.

“Shoot to kill, boys. But Sofia is mine.” He growled.

Frost kicked in the door and stepped aside. The goons stormed in and began shooting at everything. Sofia’s men were caught off guard so many of them were killed instantly while others had a delayed reaction. Groups of Joker’s men moved into other rooms to attack. Blood and debris was strewn through the air. Men were dying left and right and more so of Sofia’s than Joker’s.

Joker stood back and watched the chaos ensue with satisfaction. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of reddish brown hair stream down the hall adjacent to the back room. He made eye contact with Frost who caught on fast. They both went in different directions to seal off both ends of the hall.

Sofia and her bodyguard were trapped in the middle. Sofia dashed back into her office while the bodyguard blocked the doorway. He went to fire at Joker but Joker was too fast and killed the bodyguard with a quick flick of his pistol. 

Joker came inside and slammed the door shut, locking it. Frost stayed out and went back to overseeing the goons. Sofia crouched behind her desk in fear. 

“J-Joker, please! I’m sorry about having your girl killed, honest! Maybe we cut a deal- Aaaah!”

Joker didn’t even let her finish. He grabbed her by her hair and pulled her close to his face. He unsheathed his knife and held it between her lips. Trembling with pure rage, he steadied his hand and bared the knife down on her cheek.

“You…took…EVERYTHING from me! She was innocent! She was not involved with any of this! How the hell did you even find her?!”

When Joker got this angry, he sounded demonic. Sofia’s eyes widened in fear. She gasped for air as Joker switched his other hand from her hair to her throat.

“ANSWER ME!”

Sofia cringed. “I…I have my s-sources.” She sputtered.

Joker took a deep breath to calm down and tightened his grip around her neck. 

“I’ve, uh, tolerated our little war over the years, taking hit after hit. You were a hated enemy but not my biggest concern. Now you’ve really gone and done it. I will not ignore you this time.” 

Sofia grunted and tried to wriggle free from his grip. Joker grinned sadistically. 

“You really need to smile more. Here…let me help!” 

He pressed his knife down and sliced upwards. Sofia cried out in pain. Joker laughed maniacally and loosened his grip on her. She kneed him in the groin and pushed him away. Joker brushed it off and shoved her to the ground. She grabbed his leg and pulled him down with her. They fought for what felt like forever. Punching, kicking, pulling hair, whatever they had to do to keep the other down. Sofia was a broad, muscular woman so she put up a good fight against Joker.

Finally Joker managed to gain the upper hand and pinned her down. He drew his pistol and pressed it to her temple. Sofia’s eyes widened in horror. Joker wasted no time and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered on the floor and her body went limp.

Joker stood up and decided this was enough. He left the office and went back to where the shootout was happening. There were still some of Sofia’s men left. Joker got in on the shooting and killed four of them. Frost took care of the rest. Joker gave him the signal for the next step of the plan. 

“Everybody out! Unless you wanna be burned to a crisp!” Frost shouted to the remaining goons.

They hurried out and piled back into the cars. Frost grabbed two gas cans sitting on the steps outside and handed one to Joker. They both poured them around the building, in every room. Joker purposely dumped some on Sofia’s body. 

He threw a few lit matches down on the ground to get the fire started. Then, once he and Frost were out on the steps, he took a grenade out of his coat, pulled the pin, and chucked it inside. 

Joker and Frost sprinted back to the car. Frost hopped in the driver seat and sped away. The others had already left. Joker looked over his shoulder at the burning building in the distance. It was completely engulfed in flames. He felt content with this outcome.

He successfully avenged you but he’d never be the same again.

[vickyvicarious]

Today's entry is really not Dr. Seward's best on display. He's matter-of-factly drugging his patient and rifling through his belongings. He's daydreaming about a cause worthy enough to justify even greater breaches of ethics than he's already doing. But in amongst these musings, there's some interesting foreshadowing too.

How well the man reasoned; lunatics always do within their own scope. I wonder at how many lives he values a man, or if at only one. He has closed the account most accurately, and to-day begun a new record. How many of us begin a new record with each day of our lives? To me it seems only yesterday that my whole life ended with my new hope, and that truly I began a new record.

Seward's interest in Renfield's skillful reasoning "within [his] own scope" and subsequent curiosity at how he measures the worth of men is of course ironic. He himself has been guilty of reasoning that only goes so far because of his own bias (about this guy in particular, in fact) and also values lives differently depending on the person. Or at least in different ways - we'll see the distinct difference between how he cares for Lucy in her illness (even when there is a question of potential 'madness') versus how he has behaved with Renfield. Obviously, there's other factors at play there too, but I can't help but think of the distinction here, particularly when it comes right before he moves on to thinking more directly about Lucy.

Renfield ends his first account when Seward denies him a cat, and eats all his birds to put a close to the whole process. But then he begins anew the next day. Seward muses about endings and beginnings, and claims that to him it feels like only yesterday that his life "ended with [his] new hope." This refers of course to Lucy rejecting him, and his beginning again was our first introduction to his audio diary. By his count, we're already on his second record. And those of us who have read the book before can recognize that a third will be coming up. Once again, a loss of Lucy will mark the end of his account - according to him, but then he will have to start again when he's inducted into the vampire-hunting. And that's when, as I've seen other people joking about, he gets his "strong, unselfish cause to make [him] work" - but it's far from happiness. (Though he in particular does get a line about savage delight in killing vampite!Lucy, it's another instance of unfulfilled potential in a way. The statement is anticipatory, and when it comes time to actual kill her, Jack is firstly the support, and secondly recognizes it as a terrible task. If he were the one staking, would he take a savage joy in doing so as he expected, or would it be a burden he bore out of love for the woman she was, as Arthur did? He actively participates in beheading her afterwards, in filling her mouth with garlic, in sealing her up. We don't hear his thoughts on any of that in any depth, and that happened after she apparently returned to her former self in death anyway, so... who knows.)

So it will be until the Great Recorder sums me up and closes my ledger account with a balance to profit or loss.

This line is also really interesting. In line of what happens later - both in how important records are throughout this story, and also in the epilogue making it clear that the entire book we've read is a preserved account.

But it also draws a comparison with Renfield's notebook. When Seward looked in it previously, he directly compared Renfield to an accountant, balancing numbers representing what we now know represent lives. This wording is kind of placing Renfield in the position of God; at the least imitating a Godly approach. That also goes along with what happens later on with Mina being burned by the Host and the characters seeming to interpret that as God deeming her unworthy (marked down as 'a loss') for no fault of her own.* It could link back to that line about reasoning within one's own scope again. I'm reminded of this excellent meta by @animate-mush which talks about how transgressing or occupying multiple roles is key in so many ways throughout this book. Staying within one's (typical/expected) scope is limiting, while Doing Both is strengthening. A madman's reasoning only goes so far - but then again, so does his doctor's. In that sense, having a straightforward binary of profit/loss is unhelpful. But of course, all this is happening within the context of the Good People fighting Bad Vampires book. As a rule, the novel doesn't delve too deeply into realizing moral dilemmas, even though it raises the question of them multiple times. So this whole line of thought I've been led down by these lines is kind of another instance of that, and there's no clear resolution to it. But it's interesting to think about.

*Pretty sure I've read at least one meta suggesting the mark was actually a warning to instill the necessary sense of urgency they needed to motivate them to save her before it became too late. That it was never meant as a mark of shame at all. In this case it's fully the characters' own limited view affecting their understanding of the situation, and the accountant view of a God tallying up more 'objective' pluses and minuses is lessened.

[millie-mar]

think i’m in love with you

part 1

in which Eddie believes that gay men can be friends with straight guys without there being any subtext to their relationship. duh he’s got a friendship like that! well, had. guess he was proven wrong.

| 1k words | modern!steddie | bestfriends!steddie |

A lot of people believe that women and men cannot be friends. And before you disagree, let me give you this example.

It was my last year of highschool, and I became really good friends with Chrissy. Average height, blonde, on the thinner side as most cheerleaders are, but she stood out from them. She wasn’t homophobic for one, but there was an aura around her, that compelled you to be friends with her. She invited me over to watch Brokeback Mountain; she had a huge crush on Jake Gyllenhaal while I was jacking off to Heath Ledger almost every night. I’m not anymore. That afternoon, we went to hers straight away. She was still wearing the school’s cheerleading outfit, the green and white suited her nicely. She opened the front door which wasn’t even locked and to my surprise I heard voices inside.

“Your parents are here?” I whispered to her, stopping at the entrance.

“Yeah, but it’s fine. Don’t worry Eds.” She closed the door behind us with a loud thud.

“Chrissy? Honey is that you?” a female voice erupted from within the house, Chrissy’s mum, my guess was.

“Yeah. Eddie’s here, we’re gonna go upstairs,” Chrissy shouted back, grabbing my hand and taking me towards the stairs.

“Keep the door open at all times,” a male voice exclaimed, weary clear in his voice.

“He’s gay dad!” Chrissy sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, heard that before,” his tone shifted, this time he sounded tired.

Chrissy rolled her eyes once again, mumbling something under her breath.

However, with how the world’s started to progress now, and how people started to accept the queer community, this has changed a bit. Now, every time a gay guy befriends a man, people immediately assume they’re going out. And with the media internationally making stories about straight men ‘turning’ gay, let’s say some like to butt their noses into others business. But gay men can be friends with straight guys without any kind of subtext to their relationship.

“I think I’m in love with you!” are the first words I hear from my best friend, Steve Harrington, the straightest man I know. And I think to myself.

“Fuck.”

“What?” Steve’s puppy eyes catch me off guard. Shit I said that out loud.

“Uhh what are you saying Harrington.” I let him in and just now I realise the guy is drenched, the rain chasing him as I close the door behind him.

“I- I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and that was just… I think I’m in love with you.” he stutters horribly, which is unusual for Steve. I squint my eyes at him.

“Man, we’ve been friends for the twenty hears that we’ve been alive. You’ve seen my dick more times than any guy I’ve been with. If you were in love with me I would have realised.” I laugh it off, not meeting his gaze as I pick up a pillow off the floor and throw it on the couch. But I can feel his eyes boring into my head.

“Eddie, I’m not kidding.” His voice is stern, confident all of a sudden. I turn to look at him and fuck, am I in trouble. I have to admit, I have always thought Steve is beautiful, hot and everything in between, but nothing more than that. Never really had the hots for him. But fuck me, the way his eyes have darkened, brows slightly furrowed, his pinkish lips closed in a tight line. He’s angry and I’ll be lying if I said that wasn’t turning me on. What the fuck?

I grab his hand and pull him towards the door with a ‘you come in you’re dead’ sign, the door to my room. I push him in, slamming the door behind us and leaning on its surface, my head down, curls covering my vision.

“Prove it,” I say, my voice cracking slightly at the words that escaped my mouth. What am I saying?

I can’t see Steve’s face, but I’m waiting for him to tell me it’s some stupid joke, so we can laugh about it in ten years time when he’s happily married with little Harringtons running around and screaming. He’d have some high position job at a company, maybe he’d be a CEO, and we’ll keep in touch, barely but we will. He’ll tell me about another happy year with his wife, while I’ll tell him about another couple week relationship of mine that failed because the guy was either secretly married or fucking other people.

I’m so focused on my own spiralling thoughts that I just now come to my senses when I feel huge hands cupping my cheeks. Steve is now standing right in front of me, the tips of his white sneakers touching with the tips of my black combat boots. He brings my face up to meet him eye to eye. The brown of his eyes so much lighter than earlier in the apartment’s living area. So warm, the intensity of his stare is making me feel all giddy inside. His eyes shift between mine and my lips, he flutters them closed and kisses me. The softness of his lips is reflected in how softly he’s pressed them to mine. A little reluctant, or maybe just affectionate. I wouldn’t know, all the guys always kissed me with such fervour, this is a nice change. The initial shock passes and I fist his yellow shirt to bring him closer to me, our chests closer together. My lips move on their own, returning the kiss before I can think about it further, as if on instinct. Usually I’m more composed, I don’t let the moment get to me, so why? Why today? And why with him?

Part 2 ->

[silantryoo]

non-idol!huh yunjin x non-idol!reader (general)

WARNINGS ; a lot of making out/kissing, jealousy

huh yunjin has always hated you.

at first, you thought nothing of it. maybe she was dealing with stuff at home, maybe she was just taking it out on you. but soon, she had been nonstop pestering you, and went out of her way to annoy you for no reason whatsoever. she simply wanted to see that look on your face.

so you hated her back.

but you couldn't bring yourself to really hate her.

curse her stupid perfect face.

now you were here as the leads of your school's adaptation of '10 Things I Hate About You (1999)'. you were so ecstatic as you watched yunjin's face crumble when she first saw the news, only for yours to fall after realizing that you had to act with her.

you had to kiss her.

now, you always prided yourself with professionalism. in fact, you were fully expecting that your ex-girlfriend, shin ryujin, would've been the one to play keith ledger's character and you were okay with that. you two weren't on bad terms anyways.

you and yunjin however... your fighting had gotten so bad that the director/playwright/senior drama student had had enough of you two.

"y/n." you felt yunjin's sharp glare.

you smiled sarcastically at her. "yunjin."

yunjin frowned as you smirked at her. she hated that you never called her the proper honorifics. it just made her angrier.

"okay!" eunbi cleared her throat, gaining your attention as yunjin continued to glare at you. "i called you here to not fight."

"sunbae, this was a bad idea," you told the older girl, hearing a scoff from yunjin.

"yeah." she snarled at you. "i should've gotten the lead role."

you turned your head toward her, taking a step forward as your faces almost met. her eyes immediately looked down to your mouth as you spoke.

"unless my name changed to 'i' then you are extremely wrong." you snapped back.

eunbi sighed, shaking her head.

she clenched her teeth, her eyes trained on your lips. "did your parents ever regret spending this much money on you?"

"they didn't spend money on me because i got here for my talent." you squinted your eyes. "i'm not some nepo baby."

her eyes snapped back up to you, fire igniting in them.

the huh family was known to be influential across korea. their history dates back to when plays had officially become a thing in the country, yunjin's ancestor's becoming one of the first actresses to ever perform.

yunjin clenched her jaw. "take that back."

you smiled smugly, almost as if you were asking her to hit you.

"can you two stop it?!" eunbi yelled, causing the two of you to jump apart.

you had forgotten that the older girl had been there the entire time, too engrossed in your fight with yunjin.

"thank you." eunbi sighed, walking in front of you. "you know why you're here, right?"

you two nodded, remembering that you had caused eunbi pain in rehearsal as the two of you refused to listen to her anecdotes and only focused on fighting each other.

"i expect the both of you to practice act 4, scene 2." eunbi glared between the two of you as your eyes widened. "together."

"but unnie—"

"eunbi-sunbae—"

"no." she raised her hand. "i can't deal with this, not when the board of directors is attending opening night."

you sighed, looking over to yunjin to only find her glaring at you.

"do you two understand?"

you glared back.

"i said, do you understand?"

almost automatically, your back straightened up. "yes ma'am."

eunbi nodded, satisfied.

"i'll see you tomorrow." she looked between the two of you, tossing yunjin the keys to the facility. "fix this."

the two of you nodded, watching as your senior walked out the theater doors, giving the two of you one last look before she closed it.

you grabbed your script, wanting to get this over with.

"you got me in trouble, you idiot." you heard her mutter under her breath.

"i got you in trouble," you questioned, scoffing in disbelief. she had always started the fights and the arguments. not you. "you got me in trouble."

"how was that my fault?" she shook her head, a sarcastic smirk on her face. she looked you up and down. "do you want to die?"

"so you could get in trouble with eunbi-sunbaenim again?" you faked a sweet smile. "i'd love to."

yunjin gripped her paper as she watched you walk into the dim theater light, your face perfectly framed. she felt her ears get hot. "you're so annoying."

"can we just practice these lines and leave?" you asked, looking at the clock that read 5:30PM. "she never said to get along. she said to fix this."

"i'm trying, idiot." she rolled her eyes, standing on the blocking that was made earlier that day. "just start."

you nodded and went to open your script, only to realize that you had forgotten where you had left off. "which scene did she say we had the most trouble on?"

"act 4, scene 2." yunjin shook her head. "learn to listen."

you gave her the middle finger. "fuck off."

you made your way in front of her, the two of you standing so close that you could feel each other's breath.

you felt a blush coming up your neck as yunjin muttered through her lines, waiting for you to start. you cleared your throat.

"you were paid to take me out by the one person i truly hate." you acted out, trying your best to convey the pain your character was feeling. "i knew it was a set up!"

your character stormed away, yunjin grabbing your hand to stop you. you knew that she was supposed to drop it right after, but she didn't.

you didn't know why, but you didn't want to call her out for it.

"kat," yunjin begged, almost convincing enough to fool you that she cared. "it wasn't like that okay?"

"really? what was it like?" you took a step towards her, watching her eyes move down to your lips. "a down payment now and then a bonus for sleeping with me?"

"no! i didn't care about the money!" yunjin swallowed. "i cared..."

you watched as she took a deep breath, almost as if she was trying to calm herself down.

"i cared about you."

you frowned, glancing lightly at your script. "you are so not who i thought you were."

you went to turn, only for yunjin to pull you back into her arms. you waited for the next part, the part where her character was meant to kiss you.

you stared at her.

"well? aren't you supposed to kiss me now?" you mocked, her eyes glaring at your mouth. "or are you too much of a pus—"

yunjin smashed her lips into yours, almost painfully. you could feel the desperation behind it, causing you to widen your eyes before kissing back.

you felt the older girl smirk against your mouth. she knew that you had to pull away, but you didn't. you couldn't. not when huh yunjin, the bitchest person in the world, happened to be the best kisser that you had ever had the displeasure of meeting.

now you hated her for two things; her stupid good looks, and the way she could make you melt with the touch of her lips.

"wait, yunjin." you pulled back, gasping for air. you looked down, realizing that the two of you had dropped your scripts on the ground. "the lines—"

"shut up." she growled, pulling you back in.

yunjin didn't know why she was kissing you. she didn't know why she wanted to. all she knew was that she had been waiting for this for so long.

it was like gasping for air. you were her air.

you pulled back, hearing the familiar sounds of twice's 'love foolish' playing from your phone.

"my phone's ringing." you muttered against her lips, slightly bruised from yunjin's doing.

"i don't care."

she pulled you in again, addicted to the taste of the watermelon bubble gum that you always chewed on during rehearsal. she hated when you did that, finding it too distracting to focus.

you were just too distracting.

your phone rang again, causing you to pull away with a groan.

you walked towards the edge of the stage, yunjin watching you as her chest heaved from the lack of air.

"unnie." you answered your phone, looking at the time. your eyes widened. 6:00PM. "yeah, i'm on my way out."

you hung up and turned around to the blonde. you licked your lips before speaking.

"my sister—"

"whatever." yunjin rolled her eyes, fixing her hair. "of course you'd bail."

"i didn't bail, you idiot." you grabbed your bag as you decided to stop in front of a mirror before heading out. "you are so annoying."

she watched as you walked down the stage stairs. "i hope you slip on the way to your car."

without looking back, you lifted your middle finger behind you, a smile showing on your face as you heard her scoff.

you had practiced the monday after, and while you didn't mind, your brain was plagued with thoughts of yunjin.

your sister had figured out in the car that you had very obviously kissed someone as seen by your bruised lips. you had ended up going to her for help, trying to get rid of the sore feeling the morning after.

who knew kissing could hurt so much.

still, you found yourself dreaming about yunjin in less violent ways than before. you wondered whether or not she had expected something like this to happen between the two of you because you surely did not.

you shook your head as you tried not to think about it. girls were confusing anyways.

"how did you guys manage to get worse?" eunbi looked through her script as the cast watched idlily from the side, just wanting practice to end ten minutes ago. "the play is in two weeks! why did i pick you for the lead role?"

you bowed down, yunjin following your suit. "sorry, eunbi-sunbaenim."

"no, you're fine on your end." eunbi sighed, looking at the blonde beside you. "yunjin, switch out with ryujin. i need to see something."

from the corner of your eye, you watched as yunjin stiffened. she nodded, hesitantly walking down as she looked at you without her usual glare. instead, her sharp eyes met ryujin's.

you furrowed your eyebrows as ryujin stood in front of you, listening to eunbi scold the living hell out of yunjin who didn't seem to be paying attention to anything but you.

you felt yourself blush.

"don't worry about it too much, okay?" ryujin whispered, her cat-like dimples coming through. she always knew how to calm you down. "eunbi-unnie always gets like this."

"okay." you nodded, sending her a smile.

you looked over to eunbi, her face serious as she nodded at you and ryujin.

"start whenever."

the two of you nodded, acting out the scene as eunbi intended.

yunjin watched, expressionless as you reenacted what was supposed to happen the practice before. she hated that you seemed so sincere about your feelings for your ex. she hated how a small blush dusted your face as you stormed out after the older girl kissed you.

yunjin hated everything.

"that was what it was supposed to look like." eunbi pointed at you and ryujin, both of you bowing. "you understand, yunjin?"

she clenched her teeth. "yes."

"yunjin and y/n," eunbi called out to you. "i expect both of you to stay later."

"i can't." you shook your head. your sister had an exam that day, and you didn't want to take the bus when it was pitch black outside. "i don't have a ride home."

"i'll drive you home." yunjin offered almost immediately.

you shook your head, not wanting to bug the blonde girl. "it's fine."

"i said i'll do it."

you inhaled, watching as eunbi's eyes were on you expectedly. feeling pressured, you found yourself nodding to your director's pleasure.

"i'm serious when i say i want it fixed." eunbi pointed at the two of you before addressing the cast. "i'll see you guys in three days."

everyone bowed, eunbi clapping to dismiss them as she handed yunjin the keys.

she hoped that whatever was going on with the two of you could be fixed. she cast the two of you for a reason.

"let's get this over with." you stretched as you made your way to your blocking.

"you had fun kissing ryujin on stage, huh?" yunjin scoffed, walking in front of you as she placed her feet over the taped 'x'.

you squinted, not sure what she meant. "what are you talking about?"

"earlier." yunjin clenched her jaw.

"so what if i did?" you smirked, watching as her frown deepened. "ryujin's pretty."

she looked at you for what seemed like a while, an unknown rage spilling from her eyes.

"just start," she commanded in a monotone voice.

you nodded, not sure why she was so upset.

"you were paid to take me out by the one person i truly hat—"

yunjin grabbed the back of your neck, kissing you with a vigor that you never expected from her. but unlike before, she had been softer, almost trying to show off that she knew exactly what you had wanted.

it felt as if she was trying to prove something.

you pulled away gently, your eyes furrowed.

"why do you keep kissing me?" you asked.

"shut up." her eyes hardened, pulling you in for another kiss.

"i'm serious." you pushed her arms, trying to prevent her from kissing you. "you're so confusing."

she pulled you in gently, tasting the leftover watermelon flavour as she felt you squeeze her biceps.

for once, yunjin wasn't angry anymore.

she pulled back, her lips hovering over her mouth. "don't kiss anyone else again."

you shook your head, causing the older girl to frown. "you aren't my girlfriend."

"fine." she gave you a light peck. "be my girlfriend then."

you pulled back, almost jumping out of her arms as she groaned.

"what?"

"are you deaf?" she rolled her eyes. "be my girlfriend."

"no!" you shook your head, trying to process what was happening. "you hate me, remember?"

yunjin pursed her lips, wondering if she ever actually did. "well, i don't want you kissing anyone else."

you stared at her for a moment, watching as she gave you the same look that she had always given you, except this time, you noticed where they were trained.

oh.

"you don't hate me." your mouth hung open. "why have you been acting like such a bitch then?"

yunjin swallowed, looking away. "i don't know."

you smirked, walking up toward the older girl. you stopped in front of her. "apologize then i'll be your girlfriend."

"no."

"fine," you shrugged, loving the fact that you were holding something like this about her head. "i guess i'll find ryuji—"

"i'm sorry that you're so annoying to look at." she smiled sarcastically as she watched your face drop. "but your laugh makes my chest hurt. and you make me want to kiss that stupid look off your face."

your eyes widened, realizing what she was saying. "you... like me?"

"no." yunjin backed up, her face bright red. "you're annoying."

"so you like me a lot."

yunjin swallowed, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "shut up."

"i mean, i do too." you smiled, a real one this time as yunjin looked at you with a shocked face. "you just got on my nerves."

yunjin walked towards you. "you like me?"

you smirked at her reaction. "who's the deaf one now?"

"date me."

you could feel her breath on your face.

"why should i?"

her eyes were locked onto your mouth once more. "do you want me to kiss someone else?"

you shook your head with a frown.

"then date me."

"fine."

"fine."

the two of you looked at each other, feeling as the tension between you dissipated for the first time in... ever.

"what now?" she asked you, slightly lost.

"i don't know." you shrugged. you picked up the crumpled papers on the ground. "should we just practice the scene?"

"okay." yunjin nodded, following your lead. she turned around to find you standing perfectly in the light, staring at her with a smirk. her chest started to hurt. "stop fucking looking at me."

you rolled your eyes.

"why are you so angry at me all the time?" you questioned. "i can't date you if you're like that."

"looking at you makes me angry." yunjin explained, moving her hair out of her face. "i told you, didn't i?"

"fine, whatever." you sighed, trying your best to come up with a solution. "how about whenever you feel angry, you can kiss me. sound fair?"

yunjin's face went stoic, but you could tell by her eyes that she agreed. "whatever."

and for the first time ever, you and yunjin managed to work together without killing each other, yunjin sticking to your agreement whenever she found herself getting angry once more.

you hated to admit it, but this yunjin was much more attractive than the old one you knew.

eunbi stared at the two of you with impressed eyes.

"that was perfect." she looked around the room, the others as shocked as she was. "how the hell did you guys practice that so well?"

your eyes met yunjin's as she pushed down a smile. "i don't know."

"thank god you guys fixed it. now we're back on track." eunbi smiled. you realized that this was the happiest that you've ever seen her. "and that's the end of rehearsal. i'll see you all tomorrow."

you watched as eunbi discussed with the choreographer, leaving you to thank the others who were commending you and yunjin for a job well done.

ryujin gave you a thumbs up as you nodded in acknowledgment. you felt an arm wrap around your waist.

"yunjin."

"y/n." she smiled at you. "you looked good."

"thank you." you looked down at her lips, watching as she smirked. "you too."

"let's go out somewhere."

"you're so demanding."

"you like it though."

"shut up."

> main masterlist.

[noirsdoll]

-> in your arms

pairing: re6!leon x re6!sherry

words: 3.3k

tags: pseudo-incest, dubcon, mentions of blood, suicidal ideation (from leon), referenced drug use (from leon), short cameos from claire, helena, and jake, set after the events of re6

notes: been thinking about leon and sherry's relationship and their interactions in re6. i feel like leon is such a self sabotager when it comes to good things or people in his life. like he has an intrusive need to fuck things up for himself. also sherry.... poor sherry she deserves the world.

read it on ao3

She was practically ripped from his hands.

Ever since they escaped the confines of Raccoon City, Sherry, Leon, and Claire stayed joined at the hip, navigating the chaos. Claire eventually left, on the search for her brother. For a while, it was just Leon and Sherry, drifting from motel to motel, surviving on loose change and ice cream sandwiches. They were heading to Leon’s place, where they’d finally be allowed a rest.

But they never got it.

Intercepted by the US government, they were singled out as the sole survivors of Raccoon City. Leon was fit to join the government ranks, but not Sherry. No, Sherry harboured dormant remnants of the G-Virus, a last gift from dear old dad. That made her valuable.

Leon could only watch as they dragged her away, kicking and screaming. They were going to pull her apart with needles and scalpels, just to learn an inkling about her parents’ virus, no doubt to equip it for military use. Sherry will be transformed into a mangled piece of flesh no different from the zombies Leon’s had to kill.

Leon called out for her until his throat went hoarse. He couldn’t lose another person, he couldn’t lose her. Knowingly or not, Sherry had become his reason to live. The interrogators around him gleaned just as much. With shady grins and shifty fingers, they had him sign away his life in exchange for Sherry’s safety.

What a joke. Leon had known they wouldn’t uphold their promise, but it was the only chance he had to ensure her wellbeing. That would be the last time they see each other for a long while.

The years drag on. He can’t afford to keep a connection with her now, not after the things he’s done. The blood in his ledger, the people he’s been tasked to kill— because zombies don’t lose any of their human past.

Leon and Helena crash land in China to find Simmons and clear both their names. It’s then, out of the wreckage, that this behemoth comes forth and along with it, a man— coupled with a woman who looks oddly familiar.

The four of them try their best to put it down, and when it seems the dust has settled, Leon reaches out for this woman. He can’t believe his eyes, but he wants to.

“Sherry?”

She turns to look at him, her mouth dropping open. “Leon?”

“Why are you here?” She’s armed.

“Simmons told me to come here, I had to—,”

Leon’s mission returns to the forefront of his mind. “Simmons? Where is he?”

The man, more lapdog than person, gets in between them. “Hey, watch how you talk to her.”

“Jake, it’s okay. It’s Leon, he saved my life back in Raccoon City.” Sherry’s gaze calms him right back down. Something bubbles up in Leon’s chest. Just who is this guy?

Simmons is dead, Helena and Leon’s names have been cleared, yet Leon can’t rest– not till he talks to Sherry. Leon pulls Sherry under his arm, away from Jake. He doesn’t trust Jake, nor does he trust the way Sherry looks at him. Leon’s been away from her for too long.

“Leon! What’s up?” Sherry’s eyes glimmer just how they used to when Leon would take a knee and wipe her tears from her eyes. Back then she was so much smaller, everything was so much simpler. She was his driving force to keep going during the events of Raccoon, when a bullet to the head seemed like a better idea. Now she’s all grown up, now she’s someone else.

“Who’s that Jake guy?” He whispers.

“Oh, him?” Sherry glances over at Jake, who’s leaning against the wall pretending to look busy. Shifty. He looks shifty. Leon doesn’t like him. “He’s just a friend. His blood has the antibodies for the C-Virus.”

“You don’t look at him like a friend.” There’s something abruptly paternal in his tone. He ignores it.

She blushes then, looking away from both him and Jake. “That’s the first thing you want to ask? I haven’t seen you in forever, Leon. How’s Claire?”

“Me and her aren’t… talking anymore.” Leon was trying to protect her, as he failed to do for Sherry. “Did Simmons— did his men hurt you?”

Sherry frowns. “No, he took care of me. That was a long time ago, Leon. The facility is my home.”Her frown deepens, she wraps her arms around herself. “They took some samples, it's all blurry now— I don’t think anything happened.”

“If they did something, you’d tell me, right?” He eyes her warily.

“Of course, Leon.” She shoves him by the shoulder, teasing. “You don’t have to look after me— I’m not a kid anymore,” Sherry smiles.

“Yes, I do.” Leon says it without hesitation. “You’re still…” You’re still my little girl.

She perks up at that. “Still what?”

“Still too trusting. Jake’s dangerous.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Sherry huffs. “He’s a mercenary— I knew that when I was sent on the mission.”

Leon glances at her, deciding to drop it. “So, do you have anywhere to stay now that the facility’s been shut down?”

“Jake offered, but I’m not… sure he actually has a place,” she laughs, like there’s something funny about a man being unable to provide.

Leon thinks for a moment. “While we wait for this all to blow over, stay at my place. We can catch up.”

Things are quiet. Why wouldn’t they be? Sherry’s become a stranger to him. Leon slides a mug of coffee her way, she offers a polite smile. “I, uh, I’m more of a tea person.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Leon roots in the back of his pantry. He finds some green tea from when he actually attended his AA meetings— when he thought things could get better.

Sherry takes her mug of tea, wrapping her hands around it. She’s in her pyjamas— they’re baby blue and white. Cute. She takes a sip and stares distantly at Leon’s kitchen table. “I wonder how Jake’s doing.”

That makes Leon frown— he hides it behind his mug. What’s even so great about that ginger? He didn’t pull Sherry out of the depths of hell the way Leon did, he didn’t sacrifice everything for her like Leon did, the way he would again— without hesitation.

Leon shrugs. “He’s a tough nut, he’ll be fine. How’d you sleep?”

Sherry yawns and stretches. “It was okay. It was just hard to sleep— kept thinking about Ustanak.”

“What?”

“The monster that was chasing us. Do you not read the mission reports?”

“All I know is that it was big and ugly. They all tend to blend together after a while.”

“Right,” she frowns, “I can’t stop thinking about it. They can just make something like that with the sole instinct of killing a single person.” Sherry looks up at him, her eyes are glassy. “What if they send one of those things after you? Or Claire?”

“Hey, hey,” he sits down beside her at the table, “that’s not gonna happen. Don’t think about that.” Leon cups her face and wipes away her brewing tears. This feels more natural between them, the nostalgia of it all tugs at his heartstrings.

It’s his job to protect Sherry, always has been. She should never, even for a moment, ever feel unsafe around him. Leon looks down at Sherry, her face in his hands. She looks so small, helpless.

He kisses her forehead. He’ll keep her safe.

“Sherry’s still staying with you, Leon?” Helena sits across from him in the office cafeteria. She’s leaned against the wall, expressionless– meaning her usual resting glare.

“China took a toll on her,” Leon says, “I’m just helping her through it.”

“She doesn’t need to be coddled.” Helena scoffs. “What she needs is a therapist and a spa day.”

“I know what she needs. I was there for her during it all.”

Helena flicks an empty coffee cup on the table. It tips over. “She’s an adult. Sherry’s older than me, Leon.”

“Simmons kept her in a facility her whole childhood. She didn’t have the chance to experience life the way you did.”

“Keeping her cooped up in your apartment won’t fix that.”

“You don’t get it. She needs me.” I’m important to her. I’m finally important to someone.

“You need her, is more like it,” Helena says. “What about Ada?”

Ada was born from one of those C-Virus cocoons. She’s a monster, a freak of nature– one of the things Leon’s meant to kill. There’s no certainty to her, there is nothing pliable about her the way Sherry is.

Sure, she’s different now, but if they spend enough time together Leon can find the old her, wipe the dust off, polish the cracks and pretend. And Leon is so good at pretending.

“That’s not important.”

Helena opens her mouth to say more, but she sees something behind Leon and adeptly closes it. Then he hears that giggle, that tinkling of choir bells, and a warmth so alien to him blooms in his chest and he is sure that he has made the right decision. “Surprise!”

Any acknowledgement of Helena’s criticisms melt away when Sherry latches onto his arm, leaning into his side. Leon turns to Sherry, unable to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, thought you were staying home today?”

“I know, but I wanted to visit,” she slips into the spot beside Leon like it’s second nature. Helena rolls her eyes and gets up from the seat, walking off. Sherry glances over at Leon. “Did I do something?”

He shakes his head. “No, she was just leaving.”

Sherry hasn’t left. Leon doesn’t ever want her to. It’s late evening in his apartment, they’re watching something forgettable on the couch. Leon’s got an arm curled behind his head on the armrest, Sherry’s crowded up against his chest.

Leon can’t focus on what’s playing on the TV, not when Sherry looks so adorable, eyelids drooping, half-asleep. He moves one of her short strands of hair out of her eyes. Sherry lifts her head to look at him, a grin of exhaustion on her lips.

And then his dick kicks against her thigh.

Leon goes still underneath her. He doesn’t know what to do, but something about this is making the puzzle pieces Leon had scattered around his brain slowly click together. This is the birth of something that has been festering for so long, an inclination he has tried to ignore.

“Leon…?” Sherry asks sleepily, like she doesn’t want to believe it. Leon is something idealistic to her, he is the hero who saved her in Raccoon City, not an adult man with a dick.

That was one of things Leon cherished about Sherry, how she stays a reminder of a time when he was better. But the truth had to come out eventually. Leon’s biggest weakness is a soft body against his dick— Sherry is no exception.

And Sherry is pliable and her eyes blink up at Leon in something he has never deserved and Leon wonders if maybe this isn’t such a bad idea.

“Keep still for me, sweetheart,” he whispers, he doesn’t want to disturb the quiet.

Sherry’s confusion only grows, she shifts out of her haze. “Leon?” she repeats, and another name catches in her throat, one Leon has never been sure he wants to hear— because of the responsibility and the dependence it would afford him.

And that rotten swell blooming in his gut would only grow further, a cesspool of every bad action and self-sabotage he has lobbied at himself.

She goes to sit up and Leon tugs her back against him. Her warmth against his body is a stark reminder of just how lonely he has been, loneliness that has only been made more apparent by Sherry’s time with him.

And so he ruins it. He corrupts her, he snuffs the light out in her eyes because that is the only thing he is good at.

Then Sherry says she’s going out, clutching her clothes to her chest like her dignity is somehow woven into the fabric. Her big doe eyes are wide like dinner plates, glassy like them too.

He watches her walk away, a stagger to her knocked knees like she really is just a baby deer. She is a tapestry of Leon’s decisions then and now, the wine stain on white carpet, the blood on her underwear.

Their next conversations are held through locked doors, through choked sobs and croaked-out words. Sherry doesn’t look at him now, she averts her eyes from him and everything that he is.

Now Leon is no different from her real father, who impregnated her with that viral embryo when she should’ve been learning timetables. He is a monster. But Leon was never a hero and it’s his fault that Sherry learned that the hard way.

“Sherry, honey, please,” he speaks through the door.

She sniffles. “Go away, Leon.”

Sherry cries on impulse now. Every time Leon talks to her, she erupts in snot and tears that Leon would happily wipe away— but she’s learned not to let him that close again.

So Leon sticks with his original theory. That there’s no way he can make it worse than it already is— therefore he can do as he pleases.

She can’t leave. She has nowhere to go. Jake has fucked off to wherever homicidal orphans end up and Simmons, the stand-in dad, has already bitten the bullet. It is just him and her. And there are only so many rooms in his apartment.

Leon crowds her into a corner of the bathroom, pressed up against the shower walls, water running down their skin. Sherry yelps and covers herself, she is afraid when she never has to be. Leon is the one who keeps her safe— always has been.

“Look at me, Sherry,” he says, carding her wet hair out of her face and kissing her forehead.

She looks at the tile walls, curled in on herself. “What do you want, Leon?”

“I rushed things when you weren’t ready” The shower water drums against his back, a steady noise drowining out the silence.

“There was nothing to rush.” The bite in her voice is long gone. She is closer to a puppy than an opposing force now. “You were never…. like that to me.”

He nods regretfully. “I know that.” Sherry was never like that to him either, but Leon didn’t know what else she was. There was no other place to put her, the cylinder block in the square hole.

“I’m sorry…” Leon’s not sure what to apologize for, he didn’t do anything wrong. He just misread everything, that’s not entirely his fault. “I’m sorry, Sherry.”

“Could you just leave me alone?” There is more exasperation than finality to her tone.

Leon tips her chin up to look at him. “I’m not leaving if you’re still upset with me.”

“Then I’m not upset,” Sherry says, clearly upset. “Better?”

He frowns, “you know that’s not what I mean.”

“Leon I don’t want to talk.”

And he knows why. Puffing out a breath of air, he says, “you can stay with Claire if I really bother you so much.”

Claire slaps him. Once. Twice. She’s always angry with him. Snippy. There’s a reason they hardly talk, Claire only visits his apartment to kick his drugged-out body and make sure he’s still breathing.

“You’re a fucking weirdo, Leon,” she says. “You know what? Weirdo doesn’t even begin to cover it. How could you?” She nails that tone of a distressed mother— she should go into acting. Her performance would move Leon if the only thing he felt wasn’t the urge to kill himself.

Sherry buries her face in Claire’s shoulder. They have always looked so right together, better than he and Sherry ever did. There is a solidarity between them now, the co-founders of the We Hate Leon club that would encompass about half of the DSO.

Sherry looks like a child picking sides. She doesn’t understand what’s going on. Claire doesn’t care. This is all about one-upping him. Obviously. Claire’s constant visits to Sherry while she was a lab rat was mere preparation for this moment, when she can steal Sherry away and blow raspberries in his face, kick a man while he’s down.

And Leon is down. Down and out. Nothing but his apartment and its four walls to his name. He’s popped every prescription opioid he had, there’s no remedy left for that eternal numbness. Matilda’s been making eyes at him from his bedside drawer, one pull of the trigger might rectify everything. Have everyone running back with bouquets of flowers and pity, secretly glad he finally did what everyone’s been begging him to do.

But that’s too easy and Leon hates anything that’s easy. He’d rather sit with the consequences of his actions— a much better form of self-harm, ignoring the bloodstains on the couch cushions and the lingering of Sherry on each and every thing in his house.

She forgot to take the extra toothbrush she had propped up next to his. Leon should throw it away.

Sherry rubs herself raw every night.

It’s compulsive, she needs to, otherwise she can’t function. Every memory of Leon’s touch has heat coiling low in her stomach— even when she wishes it didn’t.

She clasps her hand over her mouth, muffling every keening moan as she cums for the nth time. All she can think about is the way he felt. The rough slide of his hands, the way he talked to her, filled her up.

Sherry has no fucking clue what Leon is to her anymore. The cylinder block in the square hole, he’s fallen somewhere between Simmons and her real dad, rather than being his separate variable entirely.

Claire wants Sherry out of her apartment by the end of the week. Sherry understands, she gets it completely. She needs to find her own place at this point. But she can’t help but dwell on the fact that Leon would’ve let her stay indefinitely, holding her close and never letting go.

She didn’t want to be let go— it was all so confusing, but it was wrong to remain, Sherry knows that to be fact. Sherry couldn’t have stayed, because what he did was wrong regardless.

But then why does she feel like this? So much different than she’s ever felt about Jake. Sherry doesn’t know how to process it, how to deal with the words Leon said to her while he was buried in her, as close as he could possibly get, his cock nudging her heartstrings.

Sherry feels as broken as she does fixed. She dials his number every night, staring at his contact in the darkness of Claire’s spare bedroom, wondering if it’d be a betrayal of Claire’s trust to call him.

The only reason Claire let her stay here is because Sherry said it was unsafe at Leon’s place. It was unsafe because Sherry didn’t know what she’d do if she stayed there any longer. If, in some alternate universe, her and Leon had a conversation and it all worked out. Him and her walking down the aisle, Leon’s ring on her finger, his kids in her belly.

Sherry’s stomach turns over at the thought, with what emotion, she’s not sure. Her breath feels lodged in her throat as she stares at his number.

By compulsion, she deletes it. She knows it’s the right thing to do, that’s what Claire told her, but she still bursts into tears, crying in the darkness.

Knowing that if Leon was here, he would’ve kissed it all away.