#but I lose focus on what they're saying. I fixate on the idea of the Last thing. they didn't know it would be the last trip. it just was.

[kittlyns]

I've been getting lost in my own head so much lately

[please1mistress]

Warning hypnotic covert language and flashing art that may induce a hypnotic trance without you being aware of it

Ah, the elusive blogger emerges from the digital depths, armed with a fresh spark of inspiration! It's like spotting a rare creature in the wild, one that usually prefers the quiet comfort of scrolling through the endless forest of images. But beware, dear readers, for when the inspiration strikes, a flurry of original content is sure to follow, raining down upon your feeds like a delightful storm of creativity. So keep your eyes peeled and your 'like' buttons ready, because when this blogger gets inspired, it's nothing short of a content extravaganza!

While scrolling this time it struck me that hypnosis isn't really sleep. It's a state of focused attention, heightened suggestibility, and vivid fantasies. People in hypnosis can seem zoned out or in a trance, but they're not asleep. They're actually in a state of deep relaxation and their brain activity reflects this, showing a receptiveness to new ideas and suggestions. This is why hypnosis can be so effective since it taps into the power of the subconscious mind to effect positive change. While it's often used as a therapeutic tool to improve sleep quality, it doesn't induce sleep itself; rather, it helps to prepare the mind and body for restful slumber.

you could be in a light trance as you read this because as you read this your mind is so focused on my words, that it's easy to let yourself relax into the things I say. The concept of a light trance is quite fascinating, often associated with a state of focused attention or absorption in an activity. It's similar to the experience of losing oneself in a good book or being engrossed in a hobby, where the world fades away and one's concentration is honed to a fine point. This state of mind can be beneficial for various mental processes, enhancing creativity, problem-solving abilities, and learning efficiency. It's a natural and safe phenomenon that many people experience regularly without even realizing it.

The beauty of reading lies in the magical dance of words, where one leads seamlessly to another, crafting a tapestry of meaning and imagination. As you read, each word acts as a stepping stone, guiding you through a river of narrative and knowledge. It's a journey that begins with a single word, unfolding into sentences, paragraphs, and chapters, each one building upon the last. making you anticipate what will come next, it heightens your focus, so it's easy for your mind to just relax into the things I am saying. Soon you are so focused that your mind isn't thinking of anything but my words. wanting to focus deeper on where I will guide you.

like being the subject of a hypnotist, you follow and feel your mind surrender to the words. The power of words is truly mesmerizing, isn't it? yes, it is, and you find that you felt the yes in your mind as you read my question, because you are now in a light trance, noticing your breathing has slowed and your focus is now fixated on my words, and the way my words are echoing in your mind. You want to be told what to do, how to think, you want to become more submissive and allow yourself not to think, don't you?

YES

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): Beg For It [21]

TW: smut :P

_______________

dacnorthxx started following you.

sallysusedtoiletpaper: VI WHO IS THIS WHO IS NORTH WHY IS THIS INTERACTION GIVING ME LIFE??? t0ddles2: @sallysusedtoiletpaper frontman of dark autumn complex sallysusedtoiletpaper: @t0ddles2 oh omg ok... I've never heard of them are they any good?? ashypoops: I haven't heard of them either. What genre? More importantly DOES VI HAVE HER VERY FIRST SHIP toodswithoutthed: @ashypoops I WAS ABOUT TO ASK BC THE CHEMISTRY!?!? they're obsessed w each other... I went stalk his profile. Ship name options: northlence, violeth... t0ddles2: they're rock/metal. even if u don't like the genre, they're worth a listen sallysusedtoiletpaper: WORD I just followed him and their band account >:3 also @toodswithoutthed I'm personally a fan of violeth. I'm linking this shit in the faces fan discord ashypoops: THERE'S A FAN DISCORD??? can u send me an invite pooks🥺 sallysusedtoiletpaper: @ashypoops ofc😘 sallysusedtoiletpaper: OMFG SOMEONE BEAT ME TO THE CHAT EVERYONE KNOWS NOOOOOO

———

Yea, so I lost my job. Big shocker.

Once my boss found out that I dipped mid-shift, the text was typed out and sent by the evening.

In any other situation, I'd be fucked. Indefinitely. Completely broke and flailing to get a new job. In fact, that was my first thought. As soon as I got the text, I clicked onto my bank account to check how much I'd have to live off of until I found a new job--

--only to find out that I had over $2,000 just sitting around, which was such a nice surprise. I don't think I've ever had so much money to my name before in my entire life. And all the transactions were straight from all my streaming apps. All within the past two weeks since being back in LA.

To say the least, losing my job couldn't have happened at a better time. Now, I can put my focus into something I actually enjoy doing.

But first, a trip to Nockfell, which is proving to be more chaotic by the second.

"Todd, dude, there's a chemistry to this thing, okay? It's a ritual," Larry says, all seriousness and business face as he stares back into Todd's uninterested gaze. "I can't fly without it."

Todd blinks, a flash of frustrated disappointment crossing over his features. "You're not taking an edible before the flight, Lartholomew."

Ash had a ticket ready for me before she even got to LA yesterday. Her entire mastermind plan was to abduct me whether I liked it or not-- not that I would've said no to begin with. And besides, having her at the apartment to help me pack last minute made pre-flight stress non-existent.

Travis is camping out at my apartment. He was more than happy to kick me out of my own house, claiming that my bed is comfiest anyway. Regardless, he said he had no desire to return to Nockfell anyway. And dad was just excited for me to go visit considering how much I've complained about missing the little town over all these years.

Sal and I haven't spoken since his last commanding text to me. Right before his very sudden face reveal. He's caught in an almost petrifying silence-- has been since he put his prosthetic back on. I, on the other hand, very much resemble a little puppy whimpering and begging at his feet. Metaphorically, of course. I wouldn't dare to physically exploit my internal thoughts.

The really sickening truth is that I'm so desperate to see his face again that I'd trip him down a flight of stairs just to recreate yesterday's scene.

Just kidding. I don't mean that. I definitely don't.

"All our seats are kind of screwed up, so I have no idea where you're sitting, sugar." Ash pokes my cheek, her chin in her palm and elbow propped on the armrest of her seat. "I bought them kind of last minute so I took whatever they had available."

A little smile tips my lips as I turn my attention away from the grumpy smurf and focus on my stunning best friend. Her viridian irises glow with renewed joy and energy like our plans check off so many bullet points on her bucket list. "That's okay," I reply, tilting my head. "At least we actually have seats, right?"

Ash grins, her maroon shaded lips accentuating the light freckles along the bridge of her nose. "See?" she chirps, arm winding through mine to pull me closer. "You get it. When do you not get it?"

Our plane calls for us to board, and so begins the toxic, anxiety-inducing split-up of the century. I lose all The Faces somewhere in the crowded line that gathers at our gate in just a matter of seconds. That's okay though, I'll probably end up sitting with some old lady that smells like an odd mixture of peonies, Dial soap, and Lysol. You know, a funeral home and two colds away from death. So long as she's nice, I'll catch her dentures when they fall out of her gaping mouth as she naps.

Anything for MawMaw.

I hobble my way into the plane, brain set on finding my seat before stressing about all other one hundred and fifty two things I have to worry about later. People are everywhere and it's, expectedly, a huge plane. Three rows-- two seaters against each wall and a row of three seats down the middle. Sickening, really. Social anxiety's worst enemy is looking for means of escape only to be met by even more people.

I block everyone out as best as I can, pretending that the people I bump into are just very dense pieces of furniture. Or, actually, even better-- a bunch of really buff kitties. Yep, just passing through a horde of Maine Coon's and Munchkin's.

I spot row F, my pupils zeroing in on the letter like a scope on a gun. Target acquired.

The majestic way I veer around what my mind imagines is a really tall Siamese and their spouse, a yellow Persian, is something that the directors of The Matrix are pissed that they couldn't come up with. I swing my foot around a figurative pair of paws and reach my free hand out to grip onto my seat-- F20. That's right bitches, I did it.

I swing my suitcase up, somehow managing to actually get it into the overhead compartment. I give it a good shove with both of my hands and a grunt, then pull the backpack off my shoulders to keep it at my feet when I sit down.

But now that I've stopped, cats are pushing past me and it's so aggressive and rushed that they suddenly aren't sweet, fluffy kitties anymore. They're people again and I'm starting to get dragged away from my seat by this sea of shared distress.

Nimble fingers latch onto my wrist from the seat beside mine-- the seat against the window. The hand tightens around me, giving my body a good yank forward. I use the aided force to weave my way around a few more people up until the hand pulls me into my seat.

I huff out a breath, pushing my hair out of the eyeholes of my mask. And begrudgingly, I turn my head to meet bright cerulean hair.

Sal isn't looking at me, he's facing the window. His entire stature gives off a mixture of unbothered and ashamed. He shouldn't feel that second one-- never. Granted, he shouldn't feel angry half as much as he does but that's besides the point.

Ever since it happened, I could tell that the abrupt exposure of his face has been heavily weighing on him. I don't owe this man a single thing-- he's been awful to me in so many ways, but I give credit where credit is due. Not only did he own up and apologize to me yesterday, he helped me to my seat... and he is handsome. Regardless of how he views himself.

He's my biggest enemy and I, his. But if I plan on getting fucked during my visit to Nockfell, I have to give him the Beating of Truth.

"So," I mumble, chewing on the inside of my cheek. If you couldn't tell, I'm absolutely forcing myself to do this even though it's the last thing I want to do. "How are we working around Ash, Larry, and Todd when we get to Nockfell?"

Sal's head tips up a bit, like he's wondering to himself if I actually just spoke to him. Then his head pivots sideways so that he can side-eye me.

"What?" He asks, voice genuinely shocked and confused. It makes my heart stutter a bit. Any time he speaks in a tone that isn't aggressive, it completely reboots my system.

"How are we going to follow through with this arrangement?" I try again, simplifying it into Sal terms. He has a wide vocabulary range; maybe using bigger words will snap some sense into him. For added effect, I lean onto the armrest separating him and I, trying to show that he doesn't repulse me or anything of the sort.

Sal doesn't move away, instead, he adjusts his body so that he can address me. Fully turns his prosthetic face to me and settles into his seat. I didn't realize how tense he was when I first sat down, but watching him relax now shows me how much my simple mention of our agreement settled his mental turmoil.

He's quiet for a moment, eyes dancing across my mask and body before his gaze meets mine again. "You still want to?" he finally decides to ask, eyebrows lifting beneath his prosthetic.

"Yea," I snort, scrunching my nose up as if his question is ridiculous. "Why wouldn't I?"

Okay, stupid question. I know the answer and the words came out before I could stop them. In more ways than others, that was a genuine response though. I can't accept that Sal would be so put off by his own appearance because I truly think it's so lovely. I have to remember though that not everyone sees themselves the way I see them though.

Sal's brows bunch together again, his eyes narrowing. "Stupid fucking question," he echoes my own thoughts, voice even and void of tone. Whoopsie.

I roll my own eyes, sighing. "Well, to settle the whole debacle," I start, aiming to just bite the bullet and extinguish the awkwardness and misplaced fear vibrating between us. "I think you're quite the catch."

Friendly banter is weird. Borderline uncomfortable, but... not quite. Just so that I'm ready to get this over with but I'd be prepared for it to happen again.

A nasally snort leaves Sal and he rotates his head so that he's facing the pair of seats in front of us.

"So," he prods, ignoring my statement. "North?"

Mission success. I know he'll never admit it and he doesn't need to, but I think he appreciates the compliment.

"What's it to you?" I counter, adjusting my position in turn. I sit criss-cross applesauce in my seat, making sure my feet don't touch Sal because God forbid. "You still get to fuck me."

"Not much," he says lowly, hand moving to ruffle up his fringe. There's that dagger tattoo again. And then his head tilts just a bit, haunting sapphire blue piercing straight through my soul like the weapon etched onto his skin. "But you're mine. North can't give you even an ounce of what I can."

Fuzzy fingers, a pounding heart, and the worst case of cold sweats possible dominates my body for the rest of the flight. My brain replays that statement over and over again, plaguing me with recurring physical reactions like I've just heard it in real life again. I wish he hadn't said anything at all if it was going to leave me like this.

Neither of us said another word. The only sound between the two of us was the constant cracking of my knuckles accompanied by me putting my feet on the ground-- then sitting criss-cross again-- then having to readjust again and again and again. He left me quite literally restless and I'm sure he's relishing in just the knowledge of it.

Landing in Nockfell was a quick divergence from bubbly hearted affliction in my being. A good distraction from Sal.

Perpetual autumn. Nockfell never gets too hot or cold. The air is always misty, the sky always grey and cloudy. Tall, ever-growing trees dominate both night and day, stealing all the light from the sun and hiding it in their leafy treetops. Nockfell houses the kind of atmosphere that I've dreamt of returning to for years now; the gentle eeriness and chill that I've longed to bask in ever since I left.

We step out of the airport and into the small parking lot where a suspiciously blue haired man is waving at us with a big, dad-like grin on his face. Not a question in my mind. That's Sal's dad-- the cropped, receding cerulean hair was the first obvious sign but as we grow closer, his bright azure eyes are the second giveaway.

"Wassup, daddio!" Larry exclaims, wrapping Sal's father up in a huge bear hug (which is so Emo Buff Daddy of him). I nearly forgot that Sal's dad, who I now know as Henry, is also Larry's step-dad. Crazy.

"Not much, big guy!" Henry chuckles, rubbing Larry's back affectionately once the hug comes to an end. He pats Larry's shoulder, that big smile still on his aged face. "You guys brought the friend back! Convinced her to come huff up our humid air?"

Henry moves over to Ash, Todd, and then Sal to hug all of them. He purposefully places a discreet kiss on top of Sal's head before turning to me.

He holds his arms open suggestively and my heart flutters. "You okay with hugs?" He asks me. "Everyone's family here."

A grin of my own sneaks onto my face as I take a little step toward Henry and wrap my arms around his middle.

Henry's arms latch around my body, shielding me from the moist, heavy air of Nockfell and anything else that could possibly hurt me here. His embrace is so comforting, so familiar, so protective that tears I've been holding back for weeks suddenly rush to the surface.

I love my own dad, he's perfect, but being hugged by his near doppelgänger reminds me of how much I miss him. I wish dad and I weren't apart so often. But that'll change soon with the money I'm making.

I don't allow myself to weep, I hide the tears and pull away from the comforting hug I needed so desperately to smile sweetly at Henry. Lovely man, his own smile widens.

The group of us piles into Henry's old 2000 Nissan Pathfinder to navigate around Nockfell.

We first stop at Ash's place-- a home I haven't seen in a decade now. Everything is so nostalgic-- the tall, two story, white-painted, wooden home and the canopy of evil-looking trees that hide it from the road reminds me of a time that's been ripped away from me.

Ash leans on the door of Henry's SUV, the window down for her to speak to me before she disappears. "I'll come by Sal's or the apartments later to scoop you up, 'kay? Parents and I have a meeting with some guys to transfer ownership of some things to me before the move." She chews on her lip, a deep yearning in her pretty eyes. "I'd let you stay with me if I could."

I shake my head at her-- I don't want her to feel guilty for handling business. "No that's okay." I tell her sweetly, grabbing onto her hand. "I'll kickback with the guys."

Ash smiles, squeezing my hand in hers before breaking off to head to her house.

Now, I never imagined I'd end up coming back to Nockfell in general, but to stand in Sal Fisher's home? These were even more improbable odds.

And worse, Todd suddenly slips out of the house with the very mean (he's ditching me!) excuse of meeting with Neil for a late lunch. That just leaves me, Larry, and Sal standing in the spacious kitchen of their shared two-story home. It's quaint, roomy, and pretty nice. I imagine it's kept up specifically because Sal tends to it.

And Sal, he doesn't say anything. Which is typical behavior from him. He only, swiftly, spins on his heels, luggage in hand, and disappears into a room right past the stairs. Okay, fair. It's late in the afternoon-- naptime.

And now it's down to two.

I look to Larry with a grin. And he's grinning back excitedly, wiggling around like an antsy child who's about to go on a field trip.

"I can't believe we managed to get you over here," he whisper-yells, screaming silently. You know, just open-mouthed and head tipped to the ceiling in pure excitement.

"Even Copernicus wouldn't be able to debunk this turn of events," I joke, watching Larry dance around his kitchen. I put my bags down. I'm sure we'll figure out this situation later when Ash returns.

Larry opens up his refrigerator, moving around some bottles before uttering an expletive. "Ah, fuck," he hisses out, quickly lifting his head which results in him slamming said head into the freezer door. I pause, wincing, eyeing his silhouette warily while awaiting whatever he has to say next.

He resurfaces from the fridge, rubbing his aching head and chewing on his bottom lip. "I left my fucking bags in Henry's car." He curses again, glancing up at me with agitated eyes. "I have to run over to the apartments real quick." Larry starts inching away from the fridge and I feel my heart leap. How could he forget his luggage in the car? And is he really about to leave me here with the master of aggressive seduction himself? We're bound to tear this house apart either via sex or a physical fight. I just don't know which one.

"I'll be like... ten minutes at most," Lar says, squeezing past me and around the kitchen table, rerouting to the front door. He gives me a look that screams vulnerability and urgency. "Please don't kill Sal, and don't let him kill you. Okay? I'll be back in a jiffy."

I blink at him, running my tongue along the inside of my dry mouth. This is not going to go well. "Okay," I say anyway. I can already see the headline on the newspaper-- 'Masked Streamer, Sally Face, Brutally Murders and Chops Up Rising Streamer, VioletViolence, With Kitchen Knife.'

Larry nods at me, pinches his lips together in a moment of concerned hesitation, then disappears through the front door.

I stand in the empty kitchen for a moment, watching the back of Larry's head through the front door window. "In a jiffy..." I murmur to myself, recalling the most soccer-mom words I've ever heard come from Larry's vicinity. It was so odd, I mean he would never say something like that, but here we are.

The house is empty aside from myself and Sal. What the hell am I supposed to do? Watch The Office?-- well, that actually doesn't sound bad at all.

I can literally do anything I want, though. I have been given the most opportune opportunity to act upon my will as I see fit. With that in mind accompanied by the suspiciously good conversation a certain blue-haired individual and I shared on the plane, I think I have an idea of what I could do. And I know I'll have a willing partner. 

This will either end in a homicide via kitchen knife or an orgasm. I'll take my chances.

A sly little grin fights its way onto my lips as I spin on my heels, trekking over to Sal's room. His door is closed, giving him an ample amount of darkness to hide in while gaming or sleeping or whatever he's doing. But for me, it's the ample amount of darkness to create a moody setting. It's perfect.

The cold, metal doorknob sits comfortably in the palm of my hand as I give myself one last chance to think about this. I really shouldn't do this, but the timing will never be this good again. With everyone moving to LA, I may never get a chance this convenient since someone will always be around.

That's the last little bit of encouragement I need to twist the knob and slowly push the plain, white painted door open.

The wood squeaks on its hinges, making Sal turn his head up from his PC. His dark, shadowed eyes meet mine. They go from curious to a bit miffed in half a second— but he doesn't say anything, really just ignores me and turns back to his setup.

My heart races. He didn't turn me away or tell me to get the fuck out of his room. That's a good start. But that also means I can actually follow through with my very sudden plan— a plan which has no plan. I didn't even brainstorm what I could do because I genuinely didn't think I'd get this far.

I watch him closely, noting the way his computer casts a cool, blue glow against his prosthetic. His hand moves the mouse around and he clicks on various things, really paying me no mind at all.

My teeth clamp onto my bottom lip as I step past the threshold of his room, grabbing hold of the door and slowly closing it behind me. Once it latches into place, I wait, simply observing the man with my back to the door. For good measure, I turn the lock. You know, just in case I manage to get somewhere.

And he still doesn't look my way. The fact that he's ignoring my presence right now makes anticipation build up within me. My heart thumps a little faster than it already has been. My cheeks feel warm, I can't keep my hands still. It's like my brain is kicked into overdrive, forcing me to take notice of every little thing.

I lick my lips and take a step forward, scratching at the skin on my knuckles. I take another step, then another, my body growing warm with anxiousness all because I may stand in front of this man, present myself to him, and come to regret it. I really might embarrass myself. Just because we agreed doesn't mean he wants me at this exact moment.

But before I'm even really prepared, I'm standing right beside him. And he's sitting there without a care in the world, comfortably propped up in his gaming chair and pulling up different comments on what looks to be YouTube.

I've done about all I can for right now, but we are on limited time. So I watch him for a moment. He has to know I'm right here— I wasn't quiet, I didn't avoid his field of vision. I'm right here.

And I still get nothing.

Time to think. Should I say something insulting? That usually gets him riled up. Maybe then, one thing will lead to another.

I bounce on my heels for a second as I think up a quick insult. "Is this how you waste your time? Figured you'd at least reply to some of your fans if you were going to read their comments. Kinda shitty of you." Low blow probably. I don't really mean it, but I'm sure he'll take it seriously. His fans mean a lot to him, it's the best way to gain his attention.

But Sal doesn't even react, only scrolls through a few replies under a comment and clicks 'like' on a some. He doesn't flinch. Doesn't look at me. Never makes a sound.

I roll my eyes. Playing hard to get are we? He fusses at me for not complying all the time— he's such a hypocritical asshole. I hate that I'm into it.

I swallow thickly, putting my hands behind my back to try and hide my nervous fidgeting. "Sal," I try, cringing a bit. That was desperation— he has to know that.

Again, nothing.

He really must be trying to piss me off, that or he isn't interested at all. But thankfully, the zero interest half doesn't stink like I was afraid it would. Instead, it spurs me into action.

He can ignore my words all he wants, but he can't ignore me.

"I'm going to touch you," I warn because consent is important. "If you don't want that, you need to tell me."

I wait a good thirty seconds but he stays silent.

I pinch my lips together then grab onto the armrest of his chair, pulling it back just enough to place my body between him and his computer. He simply looks up at me with disinterested eyes, so I go further, fueled by the spark in my soul and the rage of him purposefully pretending I'm not even there.

I take a step forward and put a gentle hand on his shoulder for balance, then easily slide myself onto his lap. His thighs are warm beneath my own, his skin smooth under my fingertips. The dark ink on his biceps contrasts beautifully with the milky color of his skin and it's quite an honor to finally run my hands over his art.

I watch the way my fingers drag down his arm then up again, returning to his shoulder. I'm on top of him and he still hasn't said a word, still hasn't touched me. At this point, I'm yearning for something— anything.

The only good sign I'm getting is that he hasn't pushed me off.

I glance up, looking into his blue eyes that are darkened by the shadows of his room. They're watching me closely, no ounce of emotion reflected in them. He's just observing.

My other hand travels to his prosthetic face, gripping onto his jaw in the way that he does to me so often. "Think you can ignore me?" I whisper, a little smirk quirking my lips despite how badly I wish I could contain it.

A slight furrowing of his brows is what I get in return.

Ha, got him.

He still doesn't say anything, but I've piqued his interest at least.

"Larry's gone," I say next, my eyes traveling to the rough prosthetic in my hands. I run my thumb over the underside of his jaw, feeling a number of scars.

"I assumed so," he says, voice a bit deeper than it normally would be and toneless like it seems to have been all day.

My gaze meets his again, and this time there's a little fire in his pretty eyes. There's desire, interest, slow-building exhilaration. I love seeing this look on him.

"Mhm," I hum, moving my other hand from his shoulder to the side of his neck. "Are you going to sit here and ignore me like the asshole you are, or are you going to have mercy on both of us?"

Sal slowly blinks, eyes traveling over my form, drinking me in like I'm the last drop of water on earth. "You called me an asshole for a reason," he bites out. "Don't expect much. Unlike you, I can actually hold out."

"But what's the point of holding out?" I counter, tilting my head to the left. "Larry's heading to the apartments. We have about ten minutes. That's enough room for one of a couple options. Stop being a little prick and do something."

"More like twenty. Larry takes his sweet ass time." Sal's eyes narrow. "You think insulting me is going to coerce me into this, you little bitch? Thought you knew our dynamic well enough by now." My words are getting to him. That's exactly what I want.

"I do know our dynamic," I whisper, leaning my head down so that my face is level with his. I look into his cerulean eyes and they gaze back at me, one pupil dilated. Then, I bend lower until I'm at the nape of his neck, his hair tickling my jaw.

I use the hand holding his face to tilt his head up and away from me, using the angle as leverage to place my lips onto his warm skin.

I hear a muffled sigh from him in response and it takes everything in me not to smile.

My mouth moves slowly along the side of his neck, placing meaningful, wet kisses along his throat. But when I get to the hilt of his tattoo, I bit down gently.

He flinches at the feeling of my teeth digging into his skin, then completely aborts his mission to ignore me completely.

Sal's hands fly to my waist, one gripping tightly onto my hip and the other trailing up my back and into my hair, gripping the strands tightly before yanking my head back.

My teeth are ripped from his neck immediately and Sal pulls me away from him by the base of my neck. I gasp, staring into his captivating azure eyes from just centimeters away. His prosthetic nose bumps my mask's and he holds me there without a word.

His eyes trail down my face and heavy breaths follow his gaze. His cold fingers are curled into my neck, his nails digging into my skin.

I swallow, wondering if maybe I should have just minded my own business, stayed in the living room and waited for Larry to come back. Maybe I pissed him off.

I lick my lips and blink at him, my mouth gapes open as I try to find something to say. He's silent. It's not awkward, just scary. Scary is ten times worse.

Sal must see the regret and fear in my eyes because his own eyes lessen their harsh glare a bit and then he rasps out, "Can I touch you?"

Every inch of my body goes rigid with shock, anticipation. "Yes," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. My fingers tighten ever so slightly on the underside of his jaw while my heart runs an entire marathon in my chest. Now is not the time to get nervous because I sweat when I'm nervous. I need to be horny– not nervous.

Sal takes a deep breath, eyes set on mine. I feel his chest rise ever so slowly, then go back down the same exact way. The pause between us is utter agony and I feel like I'm going to start spazzing out or something. Honestly, with the way I'm sitting on top of him, I might just fall over and die on the spot. That feels less incriminating than whatever is about to ensue.

Cool fingers grasp onto my thigh, his palm flattening against my skin. His hand drags up to my side, followed by his other hand leaving my neck to grab the other side of my waist. The feeling of him touching me, just like he'd asked, fills me with memories I tried so desperately to forget just a couple weeks or so ago. This is deja vu in the best way.

In one swift motion, Sal lifts me up and plops me on top of his desk. I brace myself with my hands on either side of his keyboard that lays behind me. Questions of concern start flowing through my brain because this is an odd place to be.

"Don't knock over my shit," Sal breathlessly informs, eyes glancing up to me. HIs hands move to the waist band of my bottoms and I suck in another anxious, anticipatory breath.

I nod quickly, watching him with wide eyes as he looks down at my waist, his hands circling to the front of my stomach and fumbling with the button of my shorts. Oh my gosh.

I gulp, looking at anything but the man between my legs, currently pulling down the shorts I'd traveled in. His cold fingers brush along the outside of my thighs, causing goosebumps to rise all over my skin. He's slow, purposeful, dragging this out to get whatever reaction out of me that he can. It feels like my heart is about to explode.

I have no idea what he's about to do, he doesn't warn me either. I don't have the guts to watch this scene play out. The prospect of his dilated pupils, messy hair, and that glare in his captivating eyes is too much-- so much that warmth pools between my thighs before he can initiate anything.

"You look scared," he murmurs and I flinch at the gentle, comforting tone he uses with me. I've never heard something such as this come from him and be directed at mebefore.

"I am," I answer honestly, licking my lips while his fingers slowly pull my shorts down my legs. I lift myself a bit to aid him, shivering when my bare legs meet the cold surface of his desk. "A bit."

"Why?" Sal asks, hands pressing onto my thighs. With how warm my skin is and how cool his fingers are, the contrasting temperature is enough to spark an aneurysm. He drags those hands of his up my legs until he reaches my panties, hooking his digits into them.

I shake my head, chin quite literally tilted up to the ceiling. I'm not quite sure what has me so scared. Am I afraid of myself? Him? Getting caught? Being dropped again?

One risky hand leaves my hip and Sal's prosthetic comes into view. He's hovering over me, in a standing position now. His hair falls onto my shoulders, shielding us from the rest of the world like a curtain. I blink up at him, breath caught in my throat as a rush of chills invades my body.

"Hey," he says. His voice is a bit on edge, but it's concerned. So concerned that it distracts me from my own fear for a moment. "You're okay," he continues, his hand gripping onto my chin and pulling my head down so we can be eye level. I look between his bright eyes-- his eyebrows are risen a bit, as if to communicate to me that I can trust him. But can I?

"I'll take care of you. If you want to stop, if you don't want to start-- let me know. Say anything and I'll end it immediately." He tilts his head a bit, eyes glancing over my face. This is different. This looks vulnerable. "If I made you uncomfortable at all, I--"

My head shakes in opposition. I don't even have to think about it. "No, it's not that. It-- I trust you." The words spew out of my mouth and I immediately regret it. Something smug takes over his expression and I press my lips together, grabbing onto his wrist connected to the hand that's still holding my chin. "I trust you with this. If I was tied to train tracks, I wouldn't even think of calling you." I narrow my eyes at him to exemplify my point. His eyes squint as if he's... smiling? I'll ignore that. "But you've never... made me uncomfortable. You always ask. You always check. So..."

I watch him nod slowly, our gazes never disconnecting. He seems to contemplate what I've said, measurably formulating his next move. "Do you want to talk about what's stressing you then?"

My head rears back and my eyebrows furrow, his hand falling away from my face. "What brain eating amoeba has overtaken you?" I blurt out, holding a hand out between us. It's incredibly odd-- this is out of place. "You are never concerned about me-- what is this?"

If you can't tell, I'm not a fan of change. I greatly prefer stability even if it's toxic.

Sal drops the caring act almost immediately, his eyes rolling so hard that I'm worried they'll sink into his body. "I can't go down on you if you're freaked, can I? I wouldn't even feel comfortable doing that. I'm an asshole, not a monster."

I pause, every facial feature relaxing as his statement slaps me in the face. Key words: go, down, on, you, asshole, monster. Yep, only monstrous assholes go down on their enemies. I'm the very brave, very eager, very shocked recipient of this going down.

I take a deep, shaky breath, blinking at Sal who watches me with what looks like a raised eyebrow. "Okay," I breathlessly whisper. "How are you-- are you..." Why am I rambling? What kind of answer am I looking for? Obviously the prosthetic is about to come off and I just have to contain the desperate, whore-like rage within.

"Shut up, Vi," he chuckles over my nickname, grabbing onto my thighs and tugging me to the edge of the desk as he sits in his chair again. My fingertips press into the wooden surface while my heart threatens to pound its way through my ribcage. "Just let me taste you."

Cue internal screaming. I'm so going to faint-- and the addition of watching his pretty guitar-playing hands leave my skin to unbuckle his prosthetic is pushing me to astronomical heights. I don't even exist anymore. I'm just a wisp, a little phantom fairy watching her favorite sex movie play out in real time. It's called Faceless Fixation. She's the Fellatio Fairy. I don't even-- whoever is writing my life needs to give me a break.

I'm shivering like I have hypothermia by the time Sal carefully pulls the prosthetic off his face, making sure to not mess up his hair. And then he glances up at me. Bright eyes hesitant, sort of wide. Eyebrows risen just a bit and lips pressed together like he wants to say a thousand things but can't. He looks so nervous and it's a moment we can both share.

For reassurance (I think we both need it) I smile at him. Just a slight upward tilt of my lips as I press my thighs together. He's so beautiful. Every scar, every indentation, every feature, every little freckle. Just wow-- he's a sight to behold.

Sal's gaze flits to my lips, then down to my legs and he grabs onto them again, purposefully pulling them apart. His black polished nails dig into my skin as he gazes down at my underwear. I'm so used to watching his reactions and feelings portrayed only through his eyes, but watching the way his jaw tenses and the moment his lips part like he can't wait any longer makes me feel like I'll implode. 

His fingers run up my legs to my hips, dipping into my panties and pulling them downward. I gulp over the sight, relishing in the deja vu. How kind of him to not rip these this time. 

I lift myself up as he shimmies them down my legs, finally pulling them from around my ankles and holding them up for me to see. I blink, warmth rushing to my face at his boldness. And Sal, well-pleased, quirks a little seductive smile at them before switching his gaze to me.

"I haven't even touched you and you're soaked," is what he murmurs, eyes dancing over my half naked body with very little focus on my face. It's like he's glued to what hides behind my clenched thighs, eagerly awaiting what he'll find between them. "You're inflating my ego way too much," his voice is a bit louder this time-- darker, more sinister. The pronunciation of his words shows off charming, slightly crooked front teeth and sharp canines. I'll never know how I haven't ascended already.

I shiver, trying and failing to hide my reaction. But it doesn't really matter, seeing as Sal caught onto it anyway and his hooded eyes are on mine, a dangerous glint clashing with the hypnotizing azure shade of his irises. 

His hands are on my legs again, fingers roughly squeezing my skin. He isn't putting off his plans again though. When he separates my legs and I try my best not to push him away out of fear, Sal leans forward and presses his lips to the inside of my left thigh.

I take a deep, shuddering breath as I bathe in the feeling of his soft, jagged lips moving along my sensitive skin. I commit the image to memory, absolutely astonished over the way his blue eyes are closed while he inches closer and closer to my pussy.

I'm unable to take a full breath at this point, my body is tense while I try to hold myself in an upright position, pathetically falling apart as his mouth dances along the inside of my thigh like he's studied and perfected each step he takes. His hands are molded into my skin, they've become a part of me. He's pressing my thigh up to his face, leaving the most inebriating kisses. I wish he would stop teasing me already.

At the same time, I'm obsessed with the way he's handling me. Delicately, carefully, but he's in full control and making me wait. Testing me. Seeing if I'll push him, hoping I'll give him a good reason to punish me.

Sal's eyes open again, glancing up to meet mine. I suck in a breath, watching as he opens that dirty mouth of his and bites into the sensitive skin at the top of my thigh.

I hiss, wincing at the slight pain but my eyes never leave his. They could never. And he loves that, takes it as a challenge because those sky blue eyes close and he bites down harder, sucking my skin into his mouth to leave his mark. 

Some kind of satisfied, sickeningly delighted feeling swells in my chest at the knowledge of having a mark from him on my body. It's primal, it's a little weird, but I adore the idea and maybe he does too. After what he said to me about North on the flight to Nockfell, I'd guess he's more than happy to stake his claim even if it's invisible to the outside world. 

Sal finally pulls his teeth from my leg, revealing a gnarly, dark purple mark in his wake. He places a quick, soothing kiss to the abused skin before trailing his way closer to my pussy. He masks his destination with more wet kisses and bites and I'm so worked up by now that a light sheen of sweat has formed on my forehead. I can't be doing this-- this is complete torture.

"Sal," I groan out, flinching at the sinful tone of my voice. It makes him pause his movements as well. "Please," I tack on, the word quiet and agonizingly pleading.

He hums against my skin, eyes zeroed in on mine. I hate being so direct, it's terrifying, but it's worth it if it'll end up with his tongue buried in me, right? 

"Beg for it," he says lowly, a slight rasp to his voice. His tone makes me shiver, as well as his words and I would drop to my hands and knees if he told me to right now.

My lips part upon hearing him and I release a shaky breath, thighs drawing together until he stops them with his tight grip. My heart is running a marathon, my limbs are trembling and I'm wondering if maybe this is all just a really awesome dream.

"Please," I repeat, voice coming out as a whine. For once, I don't regret it because this is what he wants. "I'm desperate." I don't know how else to portray to him that I need this-- the wait is nearly excruciating. "I need to feel you."

Sal pulls away from my skin, tongue lapping at all of his bite marks before a sadistic smile pulls at his lips. "How much do you hate me?" And he's waiting, waiting for a wordy explanation of my distaste for him. But now, with the way things have changed between us-- even if it's slightly-- describing my loathing somehow feels harder.

So I snort, trying to coerce him into putting his mouth on me again regardless of the location. But all the shivers, waiting, and very slow building orgasm is slipping away into the distance. "A lot," I whisper shakily.

He gives me a look, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together as if I've disappointed him. "You can do better than that, Vi. Where's the fire?" He leans toward the thigh he hasn't captured with his mouth yet and skims his teeth along my skin. "Should I give you an example?"

I lick my lips, a sudden fluttering in my chest making me feel light headed. I hesitantly shake my head-- the longer he isn't paying attention to me, the farther I am from cumming. I can come up with something to say can't I? Of course I can. He's infuriating enough.

"Alright then," he mumbles monotonously, finally ditching my thighs. He yanks me a bit closer, eyes still rifling through my soul. "Then tell me. And if you stop," he warns as I swallow against the pounding in my chest due to his positioning, face mere inches from my sopping cunt. He's dragged this on long enough. "I stop. Keep that filthy mouth of yours moving."

He waits for me to launch into a monologue of detest. His mouth so close to my clit, breath tickling my skin and forcing a quiet little whimper from me. 

"I fucking hate the constant foul mood you're always in," I force out, feeling my heart leap into my throat the second the words leave my mouth. Because Sal keeps his promise and with an inebriating grunt of approval, he finally attaches his lips to my clit, tongue running over it like he's desperate to soak up every inch of what I have to offer.

The feeling of his mouth on my pussy is incomparable to any other type of satisfaction in the world-- this is what I've waited for. And he happily makes up for the lost time, expertly flicking his tongue over the bundle of nerves and sucking it farther into his mouth. He moans against my cunt, hands dragging up my thighs to cup my ass and force me even closer to him. He squeezes my skin, a reminder to keep talking.

I dig up all the things I can't stand about him, slathering them across my brain so I can tell him about it. "You're a brick wall. No matter what I say, you refuse to listen. How come you're never open to hearing anyone out?" I whimper between words, squirming around on his desk and trying my damn hardest not to ruin any of his belongings.

Sal lifts my legs over his arms, pushing them onto his shoulders and I swear I'm about to combust. The way his tongue maps figure eights and circles around my clit does nothing to help, only sends me further toward falling apart.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fingers curling over the edge of his desk, heavy breaths and quiet moans falling past my lips no matter how badly I wish I could keep them inside. "You have some kind of God complex. You think you're right about everything, have to be in control of everything and I can't stand it. I can't stand you and your constant need to have everything you want."

His teeth graze over my clit and my mouth falls open, waves of pleasure rolling through my body like I've never experienced before. He moves downward, his tongue buried between my folds and licking up every bit of my arousal that he can get. Upon getting a better taste of me, he moans and I can feel the vibration of it everywhere, all the way up to my fingertips.

"I hate how easily you turn me on, how wet I get just from a simple touch," I admit, teeth clamping down onto my bottom lip as his tongue explores the inside of my pussy like he's been starved of me for far too long. His nails dig into my skin, the action eliciting a stinging sensation that only adds to the pleasure he's giving me. This is everything. "And you're so unfair. So pretty, so damn attractive with that horrible personality of yours. Why can't you be pretty through and through?"

I open my eyes again to watch him, drowning in the prospect of his face buried between my thighs, cheeks flushed and hair a mess. I watch as he drags his mouth up to my clit again, drawing patterns and shapes I don't care to know over the bundle of nerves. The rough, slick feeling of his tongue on such a sensitive place is addicting. So long as he's around to bring me to new heights like this, I don't need anything else. Maslow's hierarchy of needs has never been so wrong-- this is my sole need.

I can't help myself-- I reach a hand out, my fingers burying themselves into Sal's hair. It's soft. Just as soft as I knew it would be. And he doesn't seem to mind, only continues to suck on my clit and abuse it with his tongue. I close my hand into a fist, lightly tugging on his hair. I need something to hold onto.

"And your stupid fucking mouth," I groan out, sucking in a breath that never fully fills my lungs. His tongue dips into my pussy again, making another little groan follow my first. My thighs are clenched tightly at this point, quaking furiously. Sal never tries to stop me, doesn't calm me. It's clear how much he enjoys bringing me to ruin. "All the awful things you say, so many dirty words and you are so good with your tongue. I've never craved and loathed something so much in my life." 

Sal smiles against my pussy-- I watch in pure amazement as the corners of his lips curl upward like what I said was everything he's always wanted to hear. It's so lewd, so perverted and I absolutely will never forget this moment.

One of his hands lets go of my ass, trailing down my thigh again but moving to the inside this time. As his teeth gently nip at my clit and his tongue laps at my pussy, the tips of his fingers press against my opening, a silent request for more of my profession of hatred. A profession I'm more than happy to give him.

"I can't imagine how much I'll hate the way you fuck me just because I know it'll be better than any sex I've had before," I tell him, watching his mouth move against my cunt with furrowed brows and my lips parted in intrigue. Oh, he's so good at what he does. 

Sal's eyes meet mine again. Eye contact with him when he's in such an erotic position is incredibly intense. I feel like my entire body is going to crumple before he can finish me off and it all counts on if he's able to hold me up or not. But as soon as his cerulean gaze meets mine, two of his fingers sink into me. The action is slow, drawn out, and drags a nasty moan out of me in turn.

Sal whimpers against my pussy, taking care of me like he promised he would. When his fingers reach as far as they can go, he curls them, causing me to flinch at the sensuous feeling. There's so much going on to the point that every inch of my body feels impossibly overwhelmed. 

My sensitive clit gets sucked into Sal's mouth again, but then he pulls away. His fingers make up for the absence of his tongue, pounding into me in the same salacious way he's done before.

"Is that all you've got?" he grumbles breathlessly, glazed eyes glaring into mine. This is the expression I'm used to with him-- anger and dominance. 

I choke on the breath I try to take, my thighs pressing into his neck as his fingers slam in and out of my soaked cunt, digits only pausing their relentless pace to curl into me. I try to fight against my one working brain cell, try to form words for him, but-- "I can't." is all that I'm able to create, the two short words coming out as an imploring cry.

Sal stands, finger-fucking me into an alternate dimension. He hovers over me, his hair brushing my shoulders and neck. I watch him, an absolute mess beneath him but I can't look away-- even through the panting breaths that morph into whimpers and moans. 

His eyes glance between mine, seemingly contemplating something in that meticulous mind of his.

"Yea, you can, gorgeous," he grinds out behind clenched teeth, using the hand that's gripping my ass to press me against his chest. Our even closer proximity somehow forces his fingers deeper into my pussy, his thumb rubbing my clit. "Tell me more." My mouth is dry, I'm going to cum soon, and hopefully I don't actually fall over before that.

Sal takes a page out of my book, leaning closer to me and nipping at the skin of my throat. A little gasp falls past my lips and I finally let go of his hair, dragging my hand down to his neck. Those fingers work me to the core, never ceasing their movements and pushing into me with so much perfectly applied force. 

His mouth moves along the side of my neck, his lips still wet from my juices. I have no idea what gave him the confidence, but I'm not mad. Everything that couldn't be done with his prosthetic can be done now and he's taking advantage of it. "Speak," he snaps, tone not so gentle or comforting like it was when this first began. "Or else."

My mind is blank. "I'm about to cum," I begrudgingly whisper, completely overtaken by his fingers thrusting into me and his thumb focused on my oversensitive clit.

I shut my eyes, my free arm wrapping around his shoulders. Every inch of my body is tense, senses heightened and alert. I don't think I can possibly hold on any longer-- I doubt Sal needed my confirmation to tell that I'm close.

His digits curl into me again, repeating the action. I follow up with a loud whimper, my nails digging into the skin of his neck as he sucks on the skin behind my ear. I wish he'd have ditched the prosthetic sooner because I've really been missing out.

The hand still gripping onto my butt retreats to my stomach, fingers disappearing under my shirt and crawling across my ribs to my bra. He treats it as if it isn't even there, hand easily dipping beneath the fabric. His palm envelops my breast, squeezing gently and massaging the skin. It's such a considerate touch compared to the way he treats the rest of my body-- he knows exactly where the sweet spots are. 

"Cum," he commands, lips brushing the shell of my ear and fingers pounding into my sore cunt, thumb running over my hardened nipple.

My head drops onto his shoulder and with one more curl of his fingers, I do as he says and fall apart in his arms. I burst almost instantly, doing anything to keep myself silent over the feeling of his fingers gently caressing the inside of my pussy, riding me through my orgasm just like he did the first time. My teeth sink into his shoulder, a muffled whimper following soon after. Sal tenses up in my arms, a pleasured breath falling from his mouth and fanning over the side of my neck.

"Good girl," he purrs into my ear, lips skimming over the warm skin at my throat. He leaves one more sloppy kiss to my neck then pulls away to look into my eyes again. I can hardly hear anything he says as my teeth are forced away from his shoulder, still reeling from the orgasm that slammed into me nearly unannounced. My limbs feel like jelly as chills run up my spine. "You listen to me so well," he continues. I can't even look into his eyes; I just watch the way his lips move. How his tongue presses into the back of his teeth to pronounce a syllable. His sharp canines that undoubtedly left their own bruises on my skin. 

I gulp, unable to peel my eyes away from the mouth that masterfully brought me to climax. For the first time ever, I wonder what his mouth would feel like against mine. How soft his scarred lips would feel, not on my skin, but captured by my own. What his tongue would taste like. What his teeth would feel like nipping at my lips. 

Sal doesn't move away from me-- keeps our close proximity with his nose nearly brushing my mask's. He slowly, delicately pulls his fingers out of me but only continues to gaze into my eyes.

This is dangerous territory. Very dangerous. Because the impossible is coursing through me right now and I... somehow can't find it in me to hate him in this exact moment.

But then he blinks. Stands to his full height, moving away from me. His azure gaze turns to the desk I'm sitting on and he grabs my panties, offering them to me. Not an ounce of emotion evident on his face. I'd always wondered what he'd look like simply because I was curious if his face gave away his emotions better than his eyes could. It's pretty impressive how he's able to keep a straight mug though, RBF and all. Especially when he lifts the hand he fingered me with to his mouth and licks my cum off. He doesn't even look at me as his tongue runs up the length of his digit, just turns away from me and walks to the other side of the room.

I'm floored, jaw dropped and pussy wet. Again. That's really fucking hot.

I watch him strut away, follow his movements as he drops to his haunches and opens up his suitcase with his clean hand. He grabs something then faces me again, beginning to walk back with a finger still in his mouth.

My chest tightens at the sight. He can't be doing this to me. Not when Larry is going to be home any minute-- he needs to keep both his hands at his sides.

Thankfully, Sal has some mercy on me and finally finishes cleaning his fingers, eyes darting up to mine again. He walks up to me, right where I'm still sitting on top of his desk and drops fabric onto my bare thighs.

My brows furrow and I look down, grabbing lace. I lift it up, unfolding it to see that it's a near replica of the lace underwear he'd ripped off of me in Vegas. Only it's a completely brand new pair. No rips, no issues. My heart swells a bit at the gesture-- he bought a new pair like I'd told him to. I wasn't even serious, but he did it anyway.

I puff out my cheeks, contemplating what to say. Thank you's are virtually nonexistent between us. My eyes flit up to meet his again and he stuffs his hands into his pockets, watching me.

"You taste good," he nonchalantly comments, causing an infuriating blush to heat my cheeks.

"Thanks," I murmur, holding up the lace panties to show that I'm thankful for them too. "You taste pretty good too." He does. I'll have to return the favor to him when I get the chance.

A barely audible snort comes from him and I almost smile. 

"I'd fuck you, but Larry will be back any minute and Ash probably isn't far behind him," he says, turning on his heel and walking toward the door. "I suggest you put your clothes back on. Panties are clean, I washed them."

My eyebrows raise and I pinch my lips together. Huh. "How kind of you," I say half sarcastically. Only half because it's helpful that they are clean-- it's almost like he knew he'd place me in a predicament where I needed fresh underwear. "You trying to kick me out?" I add. Of course he is, I'm just trying to make my way out of here as awkward-less as possible.

"Hell yea," he says proudly, "I have shit to do."

"Are you calling me a distraction?" I ask, looking toward him as I shimmy my underwear and shorts up my legs then start working on the button.

Sal tilts his head, hand on the doorknob. "And a mild aggravation."

"Oh, wow," I gasp, feigning surprise. "Mild? I must be working my way onto your good side."

"Fuck me good enough and we'll see how far you get," he replies, eyes watching my every move but face still unreadable as I begin walking toward him. 

I roll my eyes. Of course. I pinch my lips together and give him a disinterested look. This is my lesson to never try to have a casual conversation with him again. He clearly doesn't want it, which, fair. Our agreement is sex, not friendship. "Okay," I say dramatically when he opens the door for me. "Bye, Sal."

The man nods his head, acknowledging the shift in the room. His eyes stay glued to mine like they have been the entire time I've been here. Now that I'm not distracted by his mouth on my pussy, I realize that this is an odd thing for him to do. He looks at me every once in a while, but not in such a... scrutinizing way. 

He purses his lips and says, "Bye, y/n."

Every nerve-ending in my body suddenly shuts off. Everything is still. I have no thoughts for a moment, no physical reaction. Just stillness. I don't breathe, I don't move. I just watch him.

There's no way— he has to have mixed up my names. It has to be that.

And then everything hits me. Sal Fisher just said my name. And not the fake one that I've been hiding behind. He said my actual name— the one that's on my birth certificate. And now my hands are shaking, my heart is racing, my breaths are uneven, and I feel like I'm going to throw up.

"What the fuck," I say shakily. I'm not ready for this. I'm going to completely switch his thought process around-- "did you just say?"

The look in his eyes changes, they light up a bit as if he's caught me. And still he decides to mess with me. "Huh?" he innocently asks.

Okay, I'd really like to wake up now.

My eyes narrow. So that's the game he wants to play? This isn't the time and I don't have the mental capacity to handle this. Not only am I recovering from a mind-blowing orgasm, but I was just getting over the overwhelming anxiety I suffered from yesterday.

"I'm not y/n, if that's what you're thinking," I rush to tell him, even adding in the fakest little smirk I've ever slapped onto my face. Anything to get him off my tail, whatever I can think of to save my ass. This really can't be happening to me.

He's still watching me speculatively and it's making my brain itch. "You know," he finally starts, voice disgustingly pleased. "I went out on a limb with that one." I watch in horror as a little smirk begins to grow on his face. I don't want to accept it yet, I really don't, but I think I'm fucked and not physically. 

At the end of the day, he's still managed to fuck me in multiple ways. I cannot stand Sal Fisher.

"What are you even talking about?" I ask him, clearing my throat quietly while taking a safe step out of his door and into the living room. I try my best to keep my eyes on him while extinguishing the fear from my gaze. If I act horrified, he'll sniff me out instantly. That is, if he hasn't already.

Sal chuckles deeply— it's, shockingly, an amused and prideful one rather than something sick, dark, and twisted. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. I try my best not to adore the way his scars stretch with his laugh and the sight of his pretty teeth. "Any other woman would have assumed I was sleeping with someone else if I called them by another name," he says lightheartedly, tilting his head down a bit. "But you didn't. And that can only mean that I'm right."

I open my mouth to decline, fear thrumming through me. He caught me red handed. I can't fucking believe this.

"And don't try to deny it, you won't change my mind. I've been very sure of who you are for months now."

My head slowly begins to shake of its own accord. He never fails to shock me. "How..."

Sal shrugs. "You couldn't have timed your introduction more horrendously. Think about it," he says, chewing on his bottom lip. "I bitch at y/n over a phone call, then the next day, a wild VioletViolence pops into my life and isn't too surprised by my shitty personality. The second you were added to the Discord server, I had my suspicions." He shrugs nonchalantly, like the confirmation doesn't bother him in the slightest. "I talked it over with Larry and Todd too. They're pretty sure of your identity as well. They were just nice enough to wait for you to tell us on your own." His eyes narrow, sly like a fox. "But I'm not nice and wanted to know for myself. Wanted to scare you a bit too."

I swallow over the bile rising in my throat. Scare me, he did. I have no idea what to do with myself. I must look like a deer in headlights nearing its death sentence. "It... it doesn't bother you?" I decide to ask in a small voice, unable to blink as I watch him closely.

That same smug little smile is still lighting up his marred face as he says, "Regardless, I still can't stand you and I'll still fuck you stupid."

-----------

A/N::::::: OMFFGGGGG I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS CHAPTER FOR AGESSSSSS PLEASE!!! more specifically the end of it! i've had this last scene written since like... 2022 o_O 

i want to give a HUGE thanks to my very good friend, Phoebe, who inspired me to write the catalyst of the smut scene with this AMAZING piece of art that they drew :3 i am soooo so grateful for having the opportunity to see the art in general, but getting to write it too??? OMG so incredibly grateful <33

side note: this is my first time writing a smut scene like this one-- well, actually any time i write a different kind of sex it's new for me LMFAO i am exploring EVERYTHINGGGG and i also have no idea if this is any good. so like last chapter, if y'all could give me some tips or things you like and didn't like, i would GREATLY appreciate it :3

i'm going catch up on my neglected homework. as always, have a wonderful morning/day/evening/night. my heart belongs to all of you <3

[sephirthoughts]

Hi! I hope you had a good day today.

For the ask game, what are your thoughts on 5 and 9 for Sephiroth?

I did, thank you! I hope you had a good day, too!

ON TO THE BURNING QUESTIONS

5. Sephiroth is such a wonderful layer-cake of pathologies, it's so fun to dissect the impacts on his personality. He is autistic-spectrum, hyper-intelligent, alienated, deeply insecure, and feels he has no 'place in the world'. Despite his insistence, under Jenova's influence, that he's the chosen one and meant to rule the world, he has rock-bottom self-esteem and almost no sense of self. He knows he's different but he has no idea who he is. Add being raised in a lab, horribly abused, and treated like a weapon rather than a person his whole life, and there's not a lot of Sephiroth left.

This would affect his living space in that it'd be generic, impersonal, highly functional, basically empty, serving its purpose as a place to rest, and nothing else. Has place to lie down, has place to shower, has place to dress=meets criteria. I doubt he'd notice if there were even blankets on the bed. It's a Sephiroth storage container, more than a living space. Which is terribly sad and now I am sad. BOOOO ME

Whether he's messy or not is another question. He honestly strikes me as someone who hates disorder if he ever thinks about it. The problem is, he does not think about it. He has executive function issues (see: his bout of manic hyperfocus in the archives, where he had books just strewn everywhere and didn't eat or sleep or bathe for days), and is generally unaware of anything pertaining to his own self-care, including messiness/dirtiness, unless they become a nuisance that disrupts his current fixation.

When he was being raised in the lab, he was a child, so there were people who cleaned, cooked, washed his clothing, etc., and in SOLDIER they definitely had people to take care of those kind of domestic things, so they could focus on training. Hence, he never learned to clean up after himself.

All of this wouldn't matter much, in a living situation with custodial services, but if left to his own devices, his combined lack of awareness, neglect of his own needs, and inexperience with such things would create a perfect storm. He'd forget to take the garbage out, never pick up after himself, not do the dishes, have takeout boxes everywhere, and have no idea that dusting, mopping, vacuuming, etc. even exist as concepts. I think his living space would be kind of awful. But he wouldn't notice.

That is, until Angeal comes over, has seven simultaneous brain aneurysms, leaves and returns with Zack and cleaning supplies, and they spend the next ten hours deep-cleaning the place, while Sephiroth insists it's not that bad.

9. This accords so nicely with number 5! Because he'd be a terrible roommate.

-He'd be quiet, courteous, and never have parties or eat your food, but he'd leave stupid long silver hairs all over everything (the less said about the bathroom shower drain the better), never clean up after himself, and act confused when asked to do so.

-He is definitely the type to always be forgetting his house key. Like, he may as well not have one.

-He leaves that stupid, ultra-sharp, nine-foot-long sword just LYING AROUND WHEREVER. Someone is going to lose a foot.

-He thinks he's a great cook and likes to share his talent with people, and he's too sweetly sincere and excited about it, so you can't bear to break his heart, and you wind up gritting your teeth and smiling through a plate of sticky, pasty, mushy pasta, with sauce made from frankly baffling ingredients (you put walnuts in the marinara? ohhhh...how…interesting. is this an anchovy?).

-He casually says absolutely horrible, emotionally devastating things, without realizing they're horrible. Example:

person: my mom was so forgetful, she always used to burn the garlic bread and she'd mix up my brother's lunch box and mine half the time

sephiroth: haha yeah, i know what you mean. on several occasions, Hojo forgot to send someone to change my IV, when he left me strapped to an exam table in the basement lab for multiple days, and i nearly died of dehydration and malnutrition

person:

sephiroth: parents, right?

-Lastly, Sephiroth absolutely never wears a shirt and in fact doesn't even own one. This is not an annoying habit, this is the habit that makes all the other ones worth putting up with.

[sk1fanfiction]

heretical take #1: bellamort is riddled (pun intended) with secrets

Maybe it's because 'the truth will destroy them' is one of my all-time, top ten tropes, but I think Bellamort actually fits this.

While I do enjoy the Gomez/Morticia-esque dynamic they're often characterized with, I think they're not so straightforward as murder wife/husband.

(1) Riddled with secrets

Re: my earlier, slightly-heretical post, bellatrix lestrange is not in love with tom riddle (and she would die of mortification if she found out)' I don't believe that Voldemort's backstory is common knowledge amongst even the inner circle of Death Eaters, and Lucius not reacting when Harry taunts Bellatrix about Voldemort's blood status, imo, is insufficient evidence to suggest otherwise.

Bellatrix (in the Bellamort ship/fandom) is characterized as being a 'he's one of the good ones' type of blood supremacist, which would explain why she would be bigoted againsy even half-bloods yet become Voldemort's follower and lover. What I think this neglects is that both the family Bellatrix was born into (the Blacks) and married into (the Lestranges) are two of the most blood supremacist families. Draco Malfoy, for example, calls Hermione a Mudblood and Ron a poor, but he never insults Harry's blood status. The Blacks and Lestrange are probably second only to the Gaunts in terms of the bigotry, and the Gaunts inbred themselves to death. The Blacks are not far off, with Sirius and Regulus's parents, Orion and Walburga, being cousins.

All this is to say, Bellatrix is more than likely beyond the point of being a 'one of the good ones' type of bigot. She loses her temper at Harry, not because she knows the truth and he hit a nerve, but because the idea of the great Lord Voldemort coming from the same dirty, filthy stock as Harry Potter is, well... heresy.

People who write/meta exclusively about Tom Riddle pre-1970s are often accused of forgetting that he's also Voldemort, which can happen, but I think it's equally common for those to focus on Voldemort during/post-rise to power to forget that he's Tom Riddle.

Therefore, on the other hand, I think it's safe to assume that TMR/LV is keeping secrets from everyone. (ref: my #many faces of tag and many faces of tom riddle masterpost for the extended version of my Tom Riddle hot takes).

The relevant summary is that even as Voldemort, he is extremely insecure and ashamed of his blood status. Voldemort is terrified of dying, and terrified of inadequacy, both of which lead to his inevitable downfall through his fixation on killing Harry. If he values Bellatrix's opinion and wants her to think highly of him (unlike Harry and Peter Pettigrew, whom he tells in the graveyard), he would never, ever, ever tell her his father is a Muggle -- his pride just wouldn't allow him to.

(2) Blood is thin, I guess?

The idea that Bellatrix's love for Voldemort is so powerful it can override her bigotry is romantic, yes, but perhaps a little unfounded based on her other relationships. Although we don't know much about Andromeda, Narcissa and Bellatrix seem close, so it's not a stretch to assume all three sisters are close, too.

(I promise I'm going somewhere with this)

Bellatrix and Andromeda grow up together for >18 years, but their sisterly love cannot survive Andromeda's rejection of blood supremacy, in Bellatrix's eyes, her marriage to a Muggle-born and half-blood child.

At the beginning of Deathly Hallows, at the Death Eater meeting, Voldemort teases (very mean-spiritedly) Narcissa and Bellatrix about (half-blood) Nymphadora's marriage to (half-blood) Remus. Bellatrix is extremely offended by this and eagerly accepts Voldemort's suggestion that she 'prune' her family tree.

You can say that Nymphadora and Andromeda are different people, and they are, but the whole Bellatrix/Nymphadora beef shows that Bellatrix is not influenced by her (once) love for her sister, or least, blood purity is much more important to her.

The elevation of blood purity above family bonds suggests that Bellatrix (a talented Occlumens) is very, very good at compartmentalizing her feelings from the ideology she believes in.

(3) You like me and want to be me so much, it makes you look stupid

The other thing about Bellamort, is why even? Why would Voldemort, who is a character who's depicted to have a, let's say, hard time with love, be romantically or otherwise attracted to someone?

Yes, Bellatrix is smart, and beautiful, and powerful, and from a very established and wealthy wizarding family, but why is Voldemort so impressed by all this?

Sometimes we find people attractive because we want to be them. Not in a Saltburn-esque, drinking bathwater and wearing their skin kind of way, but nonetheless. Bellatrix's circumstances, of being born into a pureblood family and likely having at least a decent childhood, is something Voldemort covets but can never achieve.

For Bellatrix's part, she quite literally worships Voldemort, which is strange, because unlike, say, Pettigrew, obsequiousness does not become her -- when dealing with anyone else, she is always haughty and often belligerent.

All her life, Bellatrix had been taught to believe that people who are not pureblood witches and wizards are far below her, half-bloods included. The fact Tom Riddle was raised as Muggle, no doubt, would also disgust her. Some say that Bellatrix might make an exception for Voldemort because he's powerful, but I doubt it. I think this suggestion neglects that not only is stubbornness one of Bellatrix's key personality traits, but she is one of the most stubborn, hard-headed characters in the whole canon.

Notably, wand stiffness/floppiness is correlated with the mindset of the owner, and Bellatrix's wand is unyielding, just like her. The world bends to her mindset. Not the other way around.

The only way Bellatrix could consider Voldemort worthy of worship is the fact that she thinks he is pureblood. And, in turn, Bellatrix's bloodline is one of Voldemort's favourite things about her.

[basedkikuenjoyer]

Backup Drummer

Right off the bat, we follow up a note from last time. Kuma's upping the ante on being an unreliable narrator. Now we're doing it a second time. A nested flashback. Fun! I love this, same with the idea it's a pointless exercise. Tragic though it may be, the idea these letters never find Bonney is such a great narrative nugget. Type of thing where...well, I was gonna say you see a flash of static that was there intentionally to cover a key detail but we did that one didn't we?

Seeing this flashback start to fray and break down is interesting. We keep seeing it and now I definitely think we'll have shenanigans upon our return. That's not the only bit of narrative peculiarity though. There's another beat that caught my eye even more:

We've done the "static" effect. Covering up a detail with sound effect Kanji. This one feels more like...listening to the radio at the edge of the station's rage. When it starts to intermingle with another station on the same frequency. This is such a weird little blip. "A smart hawk hides its claws" is a great idiom for all this then we shift to a brief moment with Stussy going oddly philosophical. She went too quiet during the time between the cutaway and this flashback, don't forget her. If there's another "Rashomon" break from the main story she might be a good one. Especially with this weird little adjacent element of a potential relative for Kalifa. It is odd how we get Lucci, Kaku, and a replacement girl. Not to mention the three brothers. Sabo was in Vivi's story, Luffy Bonney's, and the OG Stussy has already been around Marco so Ace fitting in isn't that much of a stretch. Still think Rashomon & Riddles is one of my better ones.

Don't forget she gets tied up in the Tamataebako thread too. Bonney is sorta inherently tied up with Urashima Taro by default with that power while we're at it. Likewise with Vegapunk, but that'll be a little secret for later. Which means now we have to get to Bonney's grand escape. That was our deal. Bonney's really horning in as someone who can fill this open role we've identified. What does our story have to say here?

Distortion. Who does "becoming Nika" remind you of? Club, white hair, doggy form, tboy swag...it smacks of Yamato's Oden fixation. Credit where credit's due, I can argue Kiku threads the needle of these Egghead characters, but Bonney's a good mix of Carrot/Kiku/Yamato as well. Still, this plus the narration feel a certain way to me. Like they're really, really reasserting Bonney as a rival. Her own captain. Someone who could have taken Luffy's place if he wasn't here. Fair is fair, our main narrator being unreliable has happened too. With the redacted announcement of the Luffy v Kaido battle. But this makes me wonder how much we'll even focus on Bonney if this flashback continues. Remember she's the third Supernova this arc set up to end her saga.

We'll get to Luffy & Kuma tomorrow, but I have a last thought on Bonney. With all the Thriller Bark elements floating around, did she lose her crew to the buzzsaw of the New World? As in, end up like Moria? Interesting parallel on the table at least. I always thought Yamato was intriguing from the vantage point of like, being perfect if Luffy did blunder into the New World too early and meet the same fate. Yams is a great person to bail you out and start a new crew. Not like anyone wanted that outcome but you can't forget Moria's shadow hanging around. Potentially even literally given the Blackbeard ship could be stolen.

[bracketsoffear]

Candyman is a good candidate, but I feel then need to argue for Belos because goddamn is he Corruption. There's a LOT to talk about, but for this one, let's focus on Caleb and Hunter.

His backstory revolves around his toxic relationship with his brother--he refused to accept that Caleb wasn't what he wanted his brother to be (i.e. not a bigoted witch-hating Puritan) and thus murdered Caleb. He is also implied to hold a grudge against the Clawthornes, the descendants of Caleb's wife--while the vindictive shit he put Lilith and Eda through could be because of time loop shenanigans, it could very well also be because they're reminders of Evelyn Clawthorne, who (in his eyes) took away his brother. Belos then created Grimwalker replicas of Caleb, prizing the ones that looked more like his brother but wanting them to act nothing like the original. He couldn't accept that Hunter would "betray" him by questioning him even a little bit and immediately tried to kill him, just like he killed enough Grimwalkers that there's now a pit littered with piles of their bones. Even before that, he was constantly emotionally and physically abusive to Hunter--for example, he violently lashed out at him and excused it as his curse, he forbid Hunter's interest in wild magic, and Hunter compares himself to fellow child abuse survivor Amity Blight in "Eclipse Lake" as feeling the need to prove themselves to their loved ones or be replaced.

One scene that highlights this is in "King's Tide." Hunter--who is dying because Belos made sure that he was subject to the Draining Spell, in case it wasn't clear already how little he really cares about getting his brother back--is facing off with Belos, who's gone full goop monster. Hunter's Palisman, Flapjack (whose existence he had to hide from Belos so Belos wouldn't eat him), is strongly implied to have originally belonged to Evelyn.

(Zoom in on Flapjack)

As far as Belos is concerned, Hunter isn't really family--he's a disposable tool. Sure, Belos will put on the kindly uncle act when it's useful, but the second he loses his temper, he shows his true monstrous colors and tries to destroy his "nephew." Hunter, to Belos, isn't even his own person. He's a flawed copy of Belos' brother--or more accurately, his idea of his brother, the "perfect" brother who was led astray by the evil witch. He's just another Caleb, a living reminder of Caleb's "betrayal" who Belos will kill without hesitation.

Belos ups the ante in "Thanks to Them" by infecting Hunter with his goop and possessing him. He uses Hunter as yet another disposable vessel (like the decayed deer seen earlier), reshaping Hunter in his image and using him to try and kill his friends. It's the natural conclusion of his exploitation of his "nephew."

Note that he says "our work"--either he's equating Hunter with Caleb again (and ignoring how Caleb decided to stop witch hunting), or he's viewing Hunter as his servant still.

And speaking of equating Hunter and Caleb...

Again, Belos is fixated on idealizing and warping his brother while demonizing Evelyn for "stealing" him. He mortally wounds Hunter's best friend because he sees Flapjack as the Evelyn responsible for leading Caleb (Hunter) into sin (and away from Belos). Furthermore, his possession is so toxic to Hunter's body that he's soon forced to ditch his host because he fatally damaged Hunter's body, necessitating Flapjack's sacrifice to fix it.

Finally, there's "For the Future," where Belos is confronted by an apparition of Caleb:

For all his claims of loving his brother, his "love" is ultimately warped and selfish. He blames Caleb for his own murder, justifies it as "saving" Caleb from his "sin," and even attacks what may or may not be his brother's spirit even as he's insisting Caleb is at fault for Belos' fratricide. And despite the ghost of his mistakes staring him down, he ignores the very obvious message and instead tries to possess another Grimwalker, only failing because it wasn't ready yet.

TLDR; Belos' relationships with Caleb (who he murdered to "save" him and idealizes as someone totally different in death) and Hunter (who he created to be his obedient and unquestioning version of Caleb, constantly abused, treated as an expendable tool, and possessed as goop that did serious internal damage) epitomize Corruption as the fear of toxic relationships.

.

[writingsfromthevoid]

smutty Maul requests you say?? I got one: what would be the one thing- or even a couple of things if hard to choose just one- that [partner/reader] would do in the bedroom that Maul would just go absolutely nuts for? Like he'd already be turned on as they're having their fun but then *that* thing happens and he's just !!!

This is a little more in depth, because I have of a lot of ideas, so... I hope you like it! :)

Warnings: smut/nsfw content

Maul's turn ons:

Honestly, I don't think it would take much for Maul. Let's be honest, he probably doesn't have that much experience in things like that. His focus and energy has been directed toward other things for so long that when it finally took a more sexual turn it would be overwhelming at first

In other words, you could as much as give him a kind of look and suddenly he'd be having all kinds of thoughts

(On the same subject, I do see him as the type to actually get lost in thought sometimes, just fantasizing and thinking about things. You'd just notice his eyes were unmoving from you for a while and he'd have such a dark look in his eyes)

But anyway!!

Praise and compliments, ego boosting from you, verbal affection, etc. All that would always get a reaction out of him. Not so much the passing compliment or something but like...specifically just doting over him. He'd eat it up, a low rumble coming from him as you went on, especially if it was accompanied by physical affection

Both being obviously intimidated by him and not being intimidated by him at all/being overly confident would turn him on. There's no losing there lmao

Touching him in general, especially in kind of overly familiar ways? Like just running your hands over his shoulders when he's sitting there and working out the tension and things like that

Touching his horns

Moaning his name, moaning in general, seeing the faces you made and the reactions he was responsible for. But something about you saying his name as he pleasured you would just send heat rushing through him

You obviously liking him to ravish you and dominate you. You just melting into him and getting all heated at him having his way with you. I think he'd love the thought of pleasuring someone and having that kind of power over them...but like in a positive way??

But similarly, would love when you were confident with him and would more than happily let you have your way with him. Like, within seconds he would get turned on if you randomly approached him and made what you wanted obvious, just asking him to come to bed with you or planting yourself in his lap to initiate something

You pin him beneath you, or against a wall? I said it in another writing but he'd almost want to challenge you for dominance (and sometimes would) but honestly most of the time?? He'd be too caught up in it to even care, and would mostly just want you to do with him what you wanted

Getting on your knees for him. No matter how badly he was tempted to slam his eyes shut he would keep them open to watch you, relishing the sight of you like that

Especially if you visibly enjoyed it. Making eye contact with him and moaning around him and all that? Bye

I can see him having a little bit of an oral fixation in general so you know 👀

Finger sucking

I also think his neck/shoulder area would be really sensitive. Wrapping your fingers around his neck, brushing your fingertips/nails over his skin, kissing his neck, anything like that

The kind of master/apprentice dynamic, but in the bedroom. He wouldn't actually initiate that himself but if you just randomly called him master or sir or anything, even just teasingly, he'd be like....oh

(I could go on asldkfj I'm gonna stop there unless anyone wants a part two 👀)

[ducktracy]

okay, i finally dedicated time to break down this scene, so here goes nothing: 

porky, despite his polite good nature, is like a lit fuse. some directors tap into his anger more than others, but he is a much more violent and angry character than we give him credit for. looks can be deceiving! just as quick as daffy was to change his mind about sitting on the egg, porky, who was just batting his eyelashes and being all smiles with daffy, is now yanking him by the neck and demanding he sit on the egg. this is a battle of determination. daffy has the bolder personality when looking in generalities, but porky can be just as stubborn and determined when he puts his mind to it. here, he does, and their physical struggle is a mental one, too.

“cut it out, i say! you heard what i said!" here's yet another instance of daffy assuming his open-book nature is universally understood. he thinks because he said something, the other party instantly understands his wishes/understands his frame of mind, when that's not true. he told porky to stop, so why isn't he!? he heard him! it's not like he didn't say anything! hmph, he's being so unreasonable! daffy assumes everyone is on the same plane of existence as he is--he has a difficult time placing himself into the shoes of others and hypothesizing otherwise. 

porky is equally as petty as daffy is. though porky's objective is for daffy to sit on the egg, when he attempts to push daffy down, he resorts to grabbing daffy's hand and trying to place it on the egg. the palm of the hand isn't nearly enough to provide adequate heating needed to hatch the egg. it's absolutely futile. but this isn't about the egg anymore--it's about proving daffy wrong. he's going to get daffy to touch that damn egg, even if it's just the brush of a finger. they're both exhibiting equal amounts of force and resistance because they're both so set in their pre-determined, stubborn objectives.

meanwhile, daffy is grabbing onto porky's face, gripping his clothing, physically swinging the lower half of his body around to avoid making any contact with the egg at all costs. it's not a matter of being bored and having to sit still to hatch a measly egg, but a matter of maintaining his title and proving porky wrong. he's gone this far along now, and he'll be damned if he quits. GOD, i love that detail of porky's tail straightening out from the force of which he's putting on daffy. he's exerting every ounce of his strength, all the way to the tip of his tail.

once more, daffy's energy proves to be contagious. you gotta fight fire with fire. he brings out the magnitude in porky's emotions, and that's why their shorts are best paired together--porky is at his emotional zenith in them when pinned against daffy, and daffy has a force who won't enable his reckless behavior. porky provides the challenge that daffy needs--he's not like your typical elmer fudd who breaks down sobbing when he kills an animal. porky is just as determined as daffy to "win". they coincide with each other. when porky throws daffy onto the ground, he retaliates by pushing porky over the egg in hopes that it'll break. he's gonna push me? well, i'll just hafta push him back! here comes more of that contrarian petty burst of energy that daffy gets when he's challenged. doesn't like being bossed around, he doesn't like his flow to be interrupted, he snaps, and he becomes purposefully contrarian in an act of resistance. he purposefully endangers the future of the egg's lifespan (or lack thereof) just to prove himself right.

porky does the impossible and catches himself with his tongue, he's that determined to prove himself right. two bold personalities feeding off of each other. thus, daffy is forced to up the ante. he throws himself on top of porky and jumps on him, HOOHOO!ing all the way, purposefully trying to make porky fall and crush the egg. daffy is outright sadistic, but he doesn't care--this is all to prove himself right. he's just that stubborn. porky, refusing to lose, contorts himself into a piggy pretzel as he flips his leg over himself to maintain his balance, securing his footing just slightly. thus, daffy must up the ante even more: by smacking porky with a giant wooden board. 

the egg is completely disregarded now. this is purely a game of ego. cat and mouse. look at daffy's face as he runs away--he's getting an absolute kick out of this. he's proud that he elicited such a strong reaction out of porky, he thrives on that attention. it's like a child doing something they shouldn't be--they know it's bad, but that's also all part of the fun. however, porky isn't a force to be stopped. in fact, in the shorts that pin the two against each other, porky typically comes out as the winner a good 70% of the time. daffy brings out that energy in him, just as he does with everyone else, even the audience--his charisma is that contagious. porky resorts to grabbing a hold of daffy's leg, sliding across the floor to make sure daffy can't escape. so, since daffy can't escape and take physical measures, he resorts to retaliating psychologically: mocking porky's stutter. 

this scene confused me for SO long, and i only just recognized what it meant a few months ago. at first i thought it was a mistake, and then i just assumed daffy sounded eerily like porky for that sequence. but no, it's purposeful. he wants to still get that upper hand, and resorts to doing so by making fun of porky's speech in hopes that it stings. if sticks and stones can't break his bones, then maybe words can.

daffy is definitely crueler here than other instances, but to him, it's a game. it doesn't register that he's been a royal pest and sadist. he knows what he's doing is bad, because it's eliciting such a strong reaction out of porky, but a part of him also views it like one giant game. take note of the backgrounds: they're unusually sparse. though seemingly lazy and cheap at first glance (and this DID help to prevent bob clampett from going over budget... again), this also has purpose behind it: the backgrounds are reduced to mere color cards so you have no choice but to focus on the action. the animation is the top priority. 

i really like that daffy mimics other parts of porky's speech pattern. though daffy repeating himself and sprinkling extra words such as "i say!" is him speaking, "cut it out now, will ya?" is definitely something that would come straight out of porky's mouth. he even goes so far as to add a little nervous chuckle in between--this isn't daffy chuckling nervously, but him mimicking porky's speech, since that's something porky does quite often. he knows porky and he knows just how to get under his skin. further proof of how they feed off of each other: it's not just porky absorbing daffy. daffy absorbs porky's mannerisms, too.

this is something i only just noticed now, but we have more of daffy's mannerisms and contagion rubbing off on porky. despite porky's oblivion, you'd think he'd be quick to recognize that well gee, maybe taking this fight onto a dangerous conveyer belt leading to my inevitable demise isn't the most solid idea out there. yet, instead, daffy's enraged and simultaneously enabled him enough that he carelessly pursues daffy anyway. he's caught up in the adrenaline, too. porky's oblivion is opposite from daffy's, in that he isn't quick to notice the little details and thinks in broader terms, whereas daffy fixates on details and is ignorant of the grand scheme of things. with that in mind, you'd assume porky would notice where the fight was heading, but he's caught up in daffy's energy. he's starting to think like him here, too, fixating on the details. that is, pursuing daffy. he gets so caught up in everything that he manages to neglect the big picture, too. that's just how contagious of a character daffy is.

back to them working as one, their objective is to escape. however, they both have different methods of exercising the same objective. even though they've quit their fighting, selfishness prevails as daffy is focused entirely on saving his skin. he climbs ON TOP of porky as he tries his damnest to run away, causing porky to face plant right into the conveyer belt. it's not that he did it on purpose, but he's just so bullheaded in his motive to escape that he'll do it by any means necessary. his personality is more electric here, more frantic, and so are his means of escape. 

nevertheless, they both end up faceplanting on the conveyer belt, their inevitable demise sped up much faster as a result. it speeds by in a flash, but you'll notice that, even flat on the conveyer belt, daffy attempts to claw his way forward as a means to escape, whereas porky just allows his fate to happen since he doesn't have enough time to react. daffy's reaction time is much quicker.

[boncorner]

HUMAN HERMES ADHD HEADCANONS

TYPE :

Hyperactive-Impulsive ADHD

DIAGNOSIS :

Has been diagnosed since early age, for all his father's flaws, he could tell this was one hyperactive child.

MEDICATION :

Has tried many different medications but decided on methylphenidate in the end, since the immediate effect worked best for his lifestyle.

THERAPY :

Has received therapy throughout his life and still sees a psychologist who specialises in the condition every now and then, but he often cancels on them since he feels like he's got no need for it anymore.

FIXATIONS :

Has more past interests than Aphrodite had lovers. Here's a list of things he's fallen in love with at some point then just kinda continued on enjoying but never really mastered because he found something new :

Biking | Gymnastics | Swimming | Dirt-Biking | Skateboarding | Rollerskating | Parkour | Streetdancing | Breakdancing | Cars | Motorcycles | Comics (specifically comic strips) | Quick live sketching

And a short list of things he never gets tired of ever because they're his eternal fixations :

Running | Animal care | Horseback Riding | Astrology | Gambling (more on that later)

STIMMING :

√ Body

Can't sit still, always on the go, drumming his fingers or hands against a surface or humming to a tune that isn't playing anywhere. He'll also occasionally make his own sound effects, like shwoop, clang, bang, pa-chah!

Mainly stims using his feet; tapping, kicking, switching weight from one foot to the other, jumping, rocking back and forth. He'll also play with his piercings, like the smiley right below his lip, or softly spinning his nose piercing while he's thinking.

√ Jewellery

Has jewellery that's subtly designed to work as stim-toys, like dangling earrings or chains with parts which you can spin or flick. At first he thought it a little overkill, but it really does help him focus on what he's doing when he's making a trade or studying somebody's pokerface.

√ Wings

If your human Hermes has wings a la reincarnation or some other fun flavour, he could also ruffle the feathers or stretch them subconsciously every now and again.

PROCESSING :

√ Thoughts

His mind runs faster than most people's do, and he can get frustrated when others aren't understanding what he's talking about, when he's really jumped ahead of the conversation by like 4 steps and the other doesn't even know what happened at step 2 or 3, or what topic they're on. It can almost feel like time travelling sometimes! Where most of what actually happened is still stuck in Hermes' head, and you just can't get him to share it because how do you not Know This already??

He's also prone to getting distracted mid-conversation and interrupt you with his own thoughts on something, or to throw something in that he Just thought about, which will later feed his RSD (see later)

√ Speech

If you speak too slowly or don't get to the point fast enough, you also risk causing him understimulation fatigue, and he'll get antsy and restless, or even bored and tired. More often than not he'll end up losing track of your conversation, start thinking about his own thing, then realise you're still talking and he has no idea what you're talking About and Oh No time to Bullshit his way outta this one!

That, or he's already started talking about something completely different out of nowhere like how water isn't actually wet or something.

The risk of speaking to him also of course comes with the risk of his brain just deciding to Not Process That Right Now, and he might have to act like he totally knew what you were saying but really it all sounded like complete gibberish.

Also sort of on the topic but needless to mention he speaks very quickly and will sometimes almost run the conversation all on his own, and occasionally stumbles on his words and has to let out a little Bluh while sticking out his tongue til he finds his words again.

✓ Sound

He's pretty good with sound and loves a good beat, and turning up the volume way high, but low repetitive noises are his enemy, and they will completely throw off his focus when he's trying to do something. The sound of a dog barking a bit away over and over every 3 minutes is driving him mad, and the soft ticking of a clock is throwing off his thoughts something insane. Talking in another room might make him unable to think clearly, and writing and listening at the same time is just Not happening.

√ Touch

He comes across as really inviting and friendly, but he doesn't like being touched unless it's on his conditions and his conditions alone. He can initiate hugs, but if you suddenly go for him without him being totally for it, he might panic like a bird being grabbed by a big hand. Just like with a bird, you need to show him what you're about to do next. He may seem hasty and wild, but he's really more delicate and alert.

Worth mentioning is also clothes, he loves loose fitting yet stylish outfits, and you can notice him fidget and twist when he's wearing things just a little too stiff or fancy.

√ Sight + Smells

He's fine with most lights and smells, save if he's overstimulated of course.

ADDICTION (TW: Drugs)

Addiction is a Problem when you have ADHD, especially when it turns out to be a way to self-medicate if you don't have the means to do so yourself. While he does have these means, he's slipped into gambling (slot machines, dice and cards are his favourites), mild drug use (pills mostly), smoking (with the help of Charon), as well as those damn energy drinks...

Auctions are also dangerous cough... And buying things you don't actually need. But the worst one is the rush of stealing. When he's feeling down or stresses about money, taking something valuable makes him feel more in control, giving him a rush and a spur of confidence. You'll sometimes find outfits in his wardrobe that just don't match his bank account...

RSD [Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria]

He may seem cool and aloof, but he overthinks everything you say about him. His family says he talks too much? Now he'll ask you if he should shut up, apologise for going on tangents, and stop himself in the middle of talking about something he loves because he caught himself talking "too much". You tell him one thing in the wrong tone of voice, and he'll laugh it off, then go home and spiral into the dark abyss of "I guess I'm an annoying piece of shit and they actually hate me haha". It also works against him that his impulsivity makes him blurt out things that he ends up regretting down the line.

[fullmarvelheart]

Wakanda

Pairing: Avengers x Enhanced!OFC

Word Count: 3,000

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of violence, mentions of past trama

A/N: Welcome to Chapter 5 of Blue Starlight. I hope you all enjoy the story as well as the way I wrote the characters! The gif is not my own. All rights to the original creator. I hope you guys enjoy!

Series Masterlist

The plane lands and I'm almost blinded by the bright sunlight that reflects in off the tarmac as the ramp is lowered down.

Waiting for us is whom I'm assuming is the King, based on what Cap briefed us over, along with his personal guards. When Cap told us about the Dora Milaje, to say I was impressed is a gross understatement. I knew they were the fiercest warriors in Wakanda but seeing them up close, they're almost as intimidating as Natasha is. Even the Kingsguard looks exceptionally deadly.

"Should we bow?" Banner asks Rhodey as they exit the jet before me.

"Yeah, he's a king." Rhodey responds in an almost serious tone. Which apparently Banner doesn't catch onto.

As the Captain greets King T'Challa, Banner clears his throat and starts to bow.

"What are you doing?" Rhodey questions loudly enough to catch the King's attention.

"Uh, we- we don't do that here." The King says, somewhat awkwardly.

I chuckle to myself as the group begins to walk.

"So how big of an assault should we expect?" I go to answer the king but am cut off.

"Uh sir-sir, I think you should expect quite a big assault." Banner says pushing his way to the front while I roll my eyes.

Shut up. You don't even have the slightest idea.

"Thanos will most likely send one of his support ships, like the one that was in New York not too long ago. He calls them Q-Ships. He won't send his full army here, just what is deemed to be enough to overwhelm the forces on Earth, so the stone can be retrieved." I explain loudly but lower my voice as I get closer to the King, who looks at me curiously.

"How are we looking?" Natasha asks softly, diverting attention away from me, thankfully.

"You will have my Kingsguard, the Border Tribe, the Dora Milaje, and..."

"A semi-stable 100-year-old man." A new voice says walking up to us.

I take in a sharp breath and freeze. The Winter Soldier. Please don't let him still be with HYDRA! That's not something else I want to deal with today. But, he's smiling and doesn't look anything like the last time I saw him. He's not glaring at anything and he has plenty of emotions that I notice, just with one glance. He outwardly looks happy, healthy, but I can see pain and guilt still present in his steel blue eyes.

I can see it because I recognize it in myself.

As both Cap and him share a friendly embrace, I see Sam move into my periphery, though I don't acknowledge him.

"Are you alright?" He asks in a whisper.

I blink out of my frozen state and give him a tight smile and nod. As I'm turning back around, I see Natasha give me a curious look before turning back towards the Captain.

"How you been Buck?"

"Uh, not bad, for the end of the world." He says solemnly, yet with a small smile

I swear, this is the most I've ever heard him speak in one go. His voice isn't raspy from misuse anymore either. Maybe he's-

As if he can feel my eyes burning holes into the side of his head, he turns to face me. His eyes widen in recognition as his face changes from shock, to confusion, to anger, to regret, and then suspicion, all within a second.

"It's good to see you again, Blue." He says skeptically.

"You too, Soldier." I say in the same tone, brushing my fingertips over the hilt of a dagger on my thigh.

He glances down, catching my movements which freeze immediately.

"You remember...?" I ask softly, not knowing if I need the confirmation for his sake,... or mine.

"I remember everything." His piercing gaze moves back to me, his features stiff and cautious, waiting for me to make a move.

"Blue?" Natasha inquires, trying to lessen the tension.

"My ability..." My explanation comes out more timid than I would like as I move my hand away from the blade and give her a shrug.

Come on! Surely he's not more terrifying than Thanos! At least this one I know I can stop.

"There won't be any problems, right?" Cap asks seriously, after clearing his throat.

The Winter Soldier, or Buck I guess, says no. I can only shake my head.

"Good. Coms on and Rhodey, suit up. Saddie, I want you out here while we go in with Vision, incase anything happens." I nod in understanding as he, Natasha, and Dr. Banner follow the King and his men inside where Wanda and Vision had disappeared earlier.

I watch them trek inside while a knot forms in my stomach.

"You're nervous."

"Huh?" I turn to find Buck staring at me curiously.

"You used to make that face whenever the men were in the room. Whenever he was in the room." He explains.

I sigh and wrap my arms around my stomach while letting my head hang over.

"Can you blame me? This whole situation is something I was hoping to avoid. Plus, I wasn't exactly expecting to see you and when I did... I didn't know what would happen, or what to expect." I keep my gaze fixated on the pavement below me as I hear him take in a deep breath. Though, I know he was thinking the same thing as I was. "But I'm terrified. Like I was then." I admit with a whisper, looking up at him.

He hums, walking closer to me.

"What should I call you?" I ask suddenly causing him to snap his eyes to mine and stop.

He hesitates looking at the ground before back at me.

"Bucky please, Saddie." He says teasingly.

I roll my eyes but crack a small smile. So Buck is a nickname then. Didn't know he knew the Captain that way...

"Your arm is different." I note as I look at the black metal appendage edged with gold markings. Much different from the previous silver one with the infamous red star.

He hums thoughtfully, looking down at it with a small nervous smile.

"I like it, it suits you." I tell him sincerely as I turn away from him, not waiting for his reaction.

I walk over to Sam and begin to talk to him while Bucky joins us with a rifle one of the Kingsguard gave to him. Rhodey appears in his armor and things begin to click in my head as I remember Sam and Rhodey's hero names. Falcon and War Machine. Definitely not who I'd expect to be next to at a time like this.

At one point, I decide to sit crisscross on the tarmac with my fingertips pressed into the pavement and my eyes closed. It's almost like I'm in a meditative state. I feel the energy running through this city, running under it. There's an endless supply far below me, that I manage to tap into.

It's immensely powerful!

"What ya doing there, Saddie?" Sam calls out. I realize there's probably blue wisps circling around my hands or even arms.

"Recharging and resting." I say, distantly.

"Meditating." Bucky answers at the same time, causing me to huff and send him, where I think he is, a playful glare.

"Are you already tired, kid?" Rhodey jabs humorously through the ear piece.

"I'm a creature that relies on energy for power. If my stored supply runs out and I can't tap into a source fast enough, I have to rely on the power my body holds. Meaning, I'd lose consciousness soon after I'd start pulling from my own life-force. Thanos has an army coming for Earth, and I want as much power as I can hold." I tell them, still in my meditative state. "Plus, relaxing like this allows me to extend my powers beyond Earth."

"Creature?" Sam mumbles in question to himself.

"What does that mean?" Bucky asks curiously in reference to my abilities while talking over Sam. He still doesn't know the full extent.

"It means that I can sense when they arrive." I tell them, ignoring Sam's notice of my slip. Though, with that and what I said in the aircraft, he should be piecing it together soon, if he allows his mind to focus on it.

They don't ask anymore questions after that, and leave me to myself. After what feels like several minutes later, I feel a very strong hum of power moving towards Earth, and quickly. I call my power back to me and absorb as much of the energy as I can from below me, I can see the bright blue growing brighter from behind my eyelids.

"Saddie?" Bucky sounds worried.

My eyes shoot open as I jump to my feet, looking towards the sky.

"Saddie!" Sam calls, trying to get my attention.

"They're here." I say fearfully, not moving my eyes.

I summon an energy ball as I see one of their ships quickly descending straight for us.

"Hey, Cap, we got a situation here." Sam says while looking to where I am.

That wasn't enough time to get the stone out safely!

I prepare to launch the ball in my hands when the dropship pings off the shield, exploding instantly. The force of the strike is absorbed back into the shield.

"God, I love this place." Bucky says in stark amusement while I reabsorb the power in my hand.

"Yeah, don't start celebrating yet, guys. We got more incoming outside the dome." Rhodey warns as the rest fall fast, impacting the Earth.

I feel the vibrations from the impact rattling though my bones and my breathing becomes harsher. The shockwaves bounce off the dome, making me feel only the tiniest bit safer.

"Is this what you were expecting?" Sam asks, looking at me.

I nod slowly with wide and fearful eyes, unable to speak. Though, how do you speak when one of your worst nightmares is occurring before your very eyes and is becoming reality?

Alarms blare through the city and the dread I have been feeling for some time now, grows in the pit of my stomach to the point it becomes nauseating. Unfortunately for me, I joined this fight, so I can't back out now. I swallow back whatever fear I can and focus on the chaos around me.

After several minutes, the Captain, Natasha, Dr. Banner, King T'Challa, and his warriors come running out of where they led Vision and Wanda. Dr. Banner goes straight to where a big red and gold suit had been laid out as warriors rush out to the tarmac.

"You two," Nat gestures to me and Bucky. "Come with me."

We chase after her into a transport ship that is filling up with other warriors of the Kingsguard. I see Cap and T'Challa board theirs with half of the Dora Milaje. When we get in, Natasha stands up front with Bucky right behind her, and me on his right, like it used to be. As much as I hate the memories, the familiarity of a fight and his presence is comforting.

Sam and Rhodey take off and fly above us as we all head towards the front line while we begin to merge with other ships on the way.

"How we looking, Bruce?" Natasha asks through the coms.

"Yeah, I think I'm getting the hang of it." I hear what sounds like rockets through my ear piece and cringe at the loudness "Wow! This is amazing man. It's like being the Hulk without actually..." His loud enthusiastic voice is cut short as I hear him fall.

I try to stop myself from giggling at him but can't help but slightly laugh out loud when I hear Bucky's chuckles beside me.

"I'm ok, I'm ok." I hear, but before I smile again, I actually notice just how many of the dropships there are... and just how big they look from here. I've never seen them in person, just heard stories.

My stomach lurches at the sight. There will be so many. Can we even win this?

"I've got two heat signatures breaking through the tree line." Rhodey calls out.

I move forward slightly, in hopes of recognizing which two of the puppets Thanos sent here. Bucky gently grabs my arm, snapping me out of my head, and gives me a questioning look. I move back to his side but keep my eyes set on the edge of the dome in front of me, not looking at Bucky. I'm not sure if I'd be able to hide my fear if I do. Rhodey and Sam do a fly over as they begin to circle back around.

The Captain, King T'Challa, and the Dora Milaje pile out of a transport. My transport group follows and Natasha, Bucky, and I merge with them. One of the legions begins to chant as we move forward. Though I can't distinguish the words over the sound of my blood pumping in my ears. Natasha comes up next to me and gives me a small assuring smile. I try my best to do the same, though I'm sure it's more of a grimace. We form a line and I finally spot the two of the Black Order that Thanos sent. I scowl and clench my fists at the sight and memory of those two.

"Do you think there's any chance of surrender?" Natasha muses.

"No, it's not the way of the Black Order." I say with a slight growl.

"Well, there's always a chance." Captain says, but it's not reassuring.

He looks at me and motions for me to follow as him, Natasha, and King T'Challa start to walk in the direction of the dome's edge. I swallow the lump in my throat and proceed to fall into line with them.

Cull Obsidian and Proxima Midnight become clearer the closer we move to them, and I try to push back my fear again. While Cull stands several feet tall than the other, with a much broader stance and deadlier appearing body and weapon, it's Proxima I fear the most. This sight of the midnight blue and black hair, brown horns, black and blue war paint, and lifeless grey eyes that make me tremble slightly. Proxima drags her sword along the dome's edge, almost hypnotized by it, watching the power crackle along her blade. She finally stops when we're at the edge, only separated by the dome.

Cull and Proxima snarl once they set their eyes on me and my lip twitches up in annoyance.

"Where's your other friend?" Natasha quips, and I have no idea which other one she's referring to.

"You will pay for his life with yours." Proxima says in the most emotionless tone I've heard her use. Her mechanical voice sends an unpleasant shiver down my spine. "Thanos will have that stone." She moves closer, as to intimidate. But so do I.

"That's not going to happen." Captain says, seemingly unbothered but determined.

"I will make sure of it." I growl.

Proxima directs her gaze to me.

"The traitor... or at least, one of them." She muses, a gleam flashes in those deadly eyes as she smirks at me. "You are nothing without your other half. A child in regards to your abilities. Weak." I know she's trying to get a rise out of me, I know it, but it's working.

Her words stroke the grief and self-doubt I had buried for this fight, making it rear it's ugly head. Before I get the chance to even move, King T'Challa speaks as Natasha moves me back.

"You are in Wakanda now. Thanos will have nothing but dust and blood." I look at the King with wide eyes, knowing he doesn't realize just who the Mad Titan is.

"We have blood to spare." Proxima states before striking her sword up into the air.

I scowl at her, but that falls into a frown when the drop ships begin to whirl and extend. We quickly make our way back to the frontlines.

"Are you ok?" Natasha asks as me move back towards the group.

"No, not really. But I'll be able to fight." I tell her, gathering what courage I can. She gives me a hesitant nod, but says nothing else. "I really hate her." I grumble, which earns me a small chuckle from Nat

I try to clear my mind and focus on my powers on the rest of the way back. I focus on what I feel, where it is, and how I can use that to my advantage, like I was taught. We get back to our forces as Bucky looks on edge but doesn't look away from the ships.

"They surrender?" He asks sardonically, knowing the answer.

"Not exactly." Captain breathes as I move to Natasha's side.

I feel the ship release the army that lurches inside.

"Here we go." I nervously breathe.

Falcon flies along the edge, circling as a scout, but I can already feel the pounding of their sharp and deadly paws vibrating against the ground. As they get closer, the thunderous pounding reaches my ears over the sound of my own heartbeat. I absorb the little bits of kinetic energy from them as they run. I feel Natasha's stare on my loose fingers which begin to glow a slight blue.

King T'Challa begins a battle chant as I feel the army slow at the edge of the tree line. Proxima strikes her sword down, letting it fall out of the air, and the army begins their charge forwards. There's more of them, more than I imagined. And they spill out of the tree line like a tidal wave of death, charging towards the dome.

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

The Best Things ~ J.V. (Part 1)

A/n: I'm so sorry but I DESPERATELY needed to get this off my chest before I exploded because I have absolutely NO self control.

I made a playlist

Word Count: 5000+

MASTERLIST

Come in sets of two...

Y/n was an oddball.

At least that's what his parents said- a lot.

"You're such an oddball."

It seemed that they meant it endearingly, but the words stuck with Y/n much more than they probably should have. And maybe that was less because of his parents or even his brother and more because of the media and the other kids that treated him very differently than they usually treated other people.

It probably didn't help that he was a Wayne.

Bruce Wayne was an absolute golden boy. He was responsible, driven, intelligent. He was a staple for Boys Going Somewhere. A face to an idea that everyone absolutely adored. It was known very well that Bruce was going to be the successor to Wayne Enterprises- even though Y/n was two years older. Bruce was good to the core, with a wide smile but a certain professionalism that most adults didn't ever master.He was level headed and figured things out very easily. His parents were incredibly proud of him and held him very dearly, and it showed.

Y/n wasn't anything like him. He preferred staying up late and watching the stars or the sun set and then rise again, compared to understanding anything about business. He was somewhat of an artist. He had notebooks full of drawings and his room was covered with thumbtacked paintings he'd put on his wall with pride, even though most of them were what he was known for: people, animals, or objects that he'd fixated on long enough to paint them... except that they were often multiple things in one painting, and they were all mashed together in a rather alarming sight. He walked around with paint in his hair and on his clothes, his eyes bright and shining and his energy completely uncontained. He had no sense of self control or when to be quiet or calm. Most often he wasn't even found at home, as he went to school and then hung out with friends he'd made on the streets.

It was instantly incredibly obvious the drastic difference between the two boys, and people had been bidding on which one would succeed and which one would flop the very first second Bruce had been born. Every bet was on Bruce making it.

Despite everything, Y/n and Bruce got along very well. Y/n was rather emotional and got upset very quickly when he was ignored, which worked quite nicely with Bruce's curiosity. Y/n could go on for hours about the same thing and Bruce would listen. Bruce could ask questions about one painting for just as long and Y/n would eagerly answer each one, going into as much detail as possible. Y/n pulled Bruce out of his comfort zone and gave him a little fun outside of the expectations that were constantly pressing down on him. Likewise, Bruce took up the mantle and allowed Y/n the complete freedom to be himself and be appreciated for it.

Even the boys' parents had a pretty steady relationship with Y/n. They found him to be a little much, but with Bruce leaving them reassured that their company would be in a pair of capable hands, they were perfectly fine with letting Y/n go absolutely wild. As log as he was safe and everything he did was legal. They might live in Gotham, but the Waynes were good people and that wasn't changing anytime soon.

Overall, they were a very happy family.

Everything changed the night Thomas and Martha Wayne were shot dead on a way home from a movie they'd taken Bruce to.

It had been a night out like any other. Y/n stayed home as usual- it was the only time he could turn his music all the way up and completely lose himself in whatever he wanted to. The others didn't mind. It let Y/n blow off steam and made him much calmer for a while; in addition, they had a night out together and got to bond with Bruce. Sometimes they'd take just Y/n, and sometimes Y/n and Bruce would go out together without their parents, but most of the time it was Thomas and Martha and Bruce, and each Wayne was okay with that.

Y/n was staring at a half painted canvas, eyes wide and fingers trailing the path of his lips. He was loving the loudness and the thumping of the beat under his feet. Like it was in his blood. He smiled, raising the paintbrush.

The door busted open. "Y/N!"

Y/n spun around, startled. In the sharp movement, he knocked over a tiny bowl full of paint. Alfred reached over, turning the music off. "Your parents were shot and killed. Bruce is home early." Red paint dripped down the easel and over Y/n's shoes as the words tried to sink in but failed.It was like looking at something see through or invisible. Like feeling the breeze and wishing to catch it, but never able to close your fingers around empty air. Y/n just couldn't comprehend what Alfred was saying. Sensing his shock, Alfred moved closer. His voice was softer when he repeated, "Y/n. Bruce needs you. He won't admit it, but I can't help him lone.He won;t even admit he needs help. He might open up to you."

"No," Y/n choked out. Martha Wayne was far too kind and gentle. She was warmth and safety incarnate. Something so good and bright wasn't allowed to fade. Like yellow paint,or the sun. She always came back in the morning Always. And Thomas Wayne was... unbreakable. Unshakable. Impossible to even faze, let alone kill. He was unbeatable. Nothing could kill him. He'd live forever. Or, at the very least, go out at his own time when he was completely sure he was ready to. "No."

"Yes," Alfred insisted, shaking Y/n's shoulders violently. Y/n flinched. "Please-"

Without another word, Y/n pushed away from Alfred and sped to Bruce's room. He didn't even knock. Bruce was sitting on his bed, his eyes haunted and his lips resting in a soft frown. His hands were in his lap as he perched on the edge of the bed like he was planning to run any second, but he also seemed cemented in place as if he couldn't go anywhere even if he wanted to. He was scary still, and as his eyes slowly moved from the floor to meet Y/n's gaze, the older Wayne shivered at the darkness in his gaze. "Bruce?"

Bruce nodded stiffly in forced greeting. "Y/n."

Y/n bit his lip. Bruce's gaze fell to Y/n's feet and widened, his hands tightening on his knees. Y/n looked down to see the red paint still on his shoe, beginning to dry, and immediately felt sick. "So-" he cut off, his throat burning like he'd swallowed acid."So they're really-"

"Yeah," Bruce interrupted.

"You were there."

"Yeah."

Silence fell like a piano from a fifth story building. Even when the silence left, the feeling didn't. Both boys were suddenly being crushed under the weight of a ginormous object neither of them could see let alone explain or find the strength to remove. It stayed through the funeral, and onward. It manifested differently for each boy.

Bruce began to dig into his parents' murder, sifting through file after file, night after night. He got little sleep and ate even less often. At least he wasn't hurting himself anymore. That he had done a lot right before Alfred, Y/n, and Jim Gordon had all teamed up to knock him out of it.

Y/n was thrown into the world of business. He was torn away from everything he cared about. His freedom and dreams were stolen ad he was forced to clean up and get into a suit and start taking care of the family company- at least until Bruce was ready. In a few months he lost not only the things he enjoyed and his parents, but also his friends and the easy going way of life. He was beaten down and forced to be calm and collected. He was taught how to not deal with emotions like real men do and handle business that needed to get taken care of. He wasn't a person anymore. He was a tool.

It was unbearable for Bruce. He was losing all of his family in one go and as he tried to fight to make sense of it or keep anything of his old life, people kept trying to knock him down a peg and remind him that he was a child. Even though Y/n, barely 14, was apparently old enough to have the world on his shoulders when he was completely and totally not able to handle it in any way. It was supposed to be Bruce's job.

Finally he managed to prove his capabilities, but not in time to save Y/n. He had been rung out by the press and pushed to the brink and then over by the people at Wayne Enterprises. When he got his free time back, he didn't spend it watching the stars or the sun rise and fall. He didn't spend it painting dogs and lamps. He didn't spend it doodling and ranting to Bruce about all the things he found wonderful about the world. He spent each and every second he had locked in his room, painting.

The colors of each work began to get darker, the themes more twisted. They got better as he fixated on one thing only... unfortunately, that thing was death.

Y/n was spiraling. He didn't take care of himself and sometimes didn't come out of his room for days. Bruce tried to get through to him, but it seemed that something really bad had happened while everyone had expected him to be in charge. The thing was, there were no hints about it and of course no one at the company would fess up about anything. Y/n wouldn't talk about it. Anytime anyone even mentioned Wayne Enterprises, he would pull away and become unresponsive.

Then the Maniax began wreaking havoc.

Y/n's focus suddenly changed. He wasn't fascinated per say by the horrible things going wrong, but more the people that were committing the heinous acts. One day Bruce finally got him to talk about it, and all Y/n had to say was, "I mean, who does that? Who goes around just killing people like it doesn't mean anything? For no reason? Look at the redhead- he shoots one of his own guys for no reason- Look, right there. What kind of mental state would someone have to be in to be so flippant about taking a life?"

The obsession with the Maniax was soon followed by an obsession of killers in general. He was found constantly reading history books about some of the world's worst killers. Then, about Gotham's worst killers specifically.

That was why Bruce went to him when he began to get involved with that same redhead that had set Y/n down this path in the very beginning. "What do you think drives him? I mean, why do what he does?" Bruce asked his brother one day. It had been quite a while since they'd sat down and talked like this. When Bruce would ask questions about something Y/n fixated on and Y/n answered with pure eagerness. This had been the first time the information had been useful or had a realistic application, and it was upsetting.

"Probably some mental disorders. Perhaps some childhood trauma. He's probably immensely desensitized..." He paused. "Jerome Velaska is actually quite odd. He's probably just psychotic, with some serious abandonment issues and a sort of god complex. He wants to be seen and known and craves endless adoration and attention. He'll do anything to get what he wants, and doesn't have the patience or tolerance for anything else. That's why he acts out- it's like he has the mind of a child. He didn't get his way and now he's going to pitch a fit and chuck his toys. His toys being people and the fit being murder."

Bruce swallowed. "That's demented."

"Hm?" Y/n hummed. He blinked then forced himself to nod. He had zoned out and not blinked to bring himself back to the present. "Yeah. He's totally messed up."

Bruce tried not to ask Y/n about Jerome again after that. There had been a strange light in his eyes. A dangerous interest that made Bruce... nervous.

Everything came to a climatic bang when Alfred took the two brothers out to a charity banquet held in honor of a children's hospital. He'd only managed to get Y/n out because he'd been more energetic recently. More in a good mood. A little more like himself. In favor of seeing Y/n be so much like he used to, neither Alfred nor Bruce questioned it.

Boy did they wish they had though.

The night was seeming to pan out rather dull until the Magician came out. Y/n loved Magicians. He always had. He found their skill to pull off even the most obvious tricks was rather impressive. So when the Magician on stage asked for a volunteer and Bruce was chosen, Y/n was a little disheartened.

Bruce, however, seemed that he would rather do anything else. He had been nagging to leave anyway. Y/n stepped forward. "I can go up for you if you want," he offered.

The woman smiled and on stage, the Magician announced, "Ah yes! Just as well, just as well. Please, join us." The woman held out her hand for Y/n and he took it immediately.

Gotham hadn't seen Y/n in a very long time. People tittered and clapped and Y/n felt nervous. He hadn't been in front of a crowd since-

No, he wouldn't think about that. Tonight it was just some good fun and he'd be okay with that. Wasn't he allowed to have fun every once in a while?

The Magician greeted Y/n then opened a box, motioning for him to get in. He did, with a bounce in his step and excitement in his eyes. The box lid closed over top Y/n and the slats were put in place. It was the classic "sawed in half" trick. Y/n was immediately put off though. It would ruin the magic if an audience member did the trick. The assistant always did this trick, because it required a lot of trick of the eye to work. This way, he'd just get cut in-

Y/n's eyes went wide. The Magician above him smiled deviously.

"Does this handsome gentleman have a name?" Suddenly Y/n's body went cold. He knew that voice. Had heard it again and again and again on tv. He had seen that exact smile accompanying it. He was torn between the horror of the very real possibility of death at any second, and awe at finally meeting the man he'd been unable to get out of his head for the last significant amount of time. Since the whole bus full of high schoolers had almost been set on fire and that soon-to-be familiar face was all over the screen during the news broadcast about it. That face that had been and would be on every news broadcast for quite sometime. The Magician hummed, raising his eyebrows, and Y/n swallowed.

"Y/n," he said. There was no point now. He was trapped and at this man's mercy. What could he do? Cry for help? The most anyone would do is laugh it off, even if he could manage to get the lump out of his throat and get any coherent message across. Plus, something far more demanding kept him silent.

An extremely dangerous sense of curiosity.

If he was going to die tonight anyway, he might as well take his last moments to see what Jerome Valeska was like up close.

"Y/n," the not-magician repeated, musing over the name. "Well, Y/n, this won't hurt a bit." He clanged the two large saws together and Y/n felt breathless. What was he doing?! This was absolute madness! "Is there a doctor in the house?" The crowd laughed. The crowd LAUGHED. Of course they laughed. They always laughed. No one cared about Y/n Wayne.

Suddenly Alfred's voice sounded out, rather panicked. Y/n looked over, surprised. Of all people, Y/n didn't think it would have been Alfred who would have intervened. Alfred had been much too wrapped up in taking care of Bruce. Such as everyone was. Despite that, it was him to stumbled out, "Just- wait- excuse--" He held up a hand, everything going quiet and still as he tripped forward. "Just wait, wait, wait one second."

Jerome didn't wait.

The saw came down.

To his own shock, Y/n was fine.

The assistant rolled away his lower half and then returned it just in time for Jerome to lean close and whisper, "Give em a wave." Y/n looked directly into his eyes and his smile wavered. They were a pretty color. Brown, littered with slight blues and green that came alive under the stage lighting.

"I know who you are." The words wouldn't have been heard by anyone else other than Jerome- even if it wasn't for the clapping. Jerome froze, but Y/n didn't wait. He stood, waved to the audience to show he was alright, and then allowed the assistant to take him back to his place next to Bruce and Alfred.

When Jerome spoke gain, his words seemed to be a little different. Y/n placed the emotion when he turned back around again and saw Jerome's eyes glued intently to Y/n. He wasn't blinking. "Some say Y/n here has a split personality." The audience laughed at the pun and then his voice lightened again as he moved onto his next trick. As he called up the mayor an the set up began, the assistant's mask fell off.

Y/n gasped. He knew that face too. Unmistakable. Barbara Keene. Of course. How did Y/n not see that far sooner?

"I should warn you," Jerome teased lightly. "No one is getting out of here tonight alive." The audience laughed and Y/n thought he would feel terror at the words. What was stopping him now? He could whisper to Bruce or Alfred. To that nice lady from before-

It was then that Y/n realized Lee Thompkins was gone.

Jerome flung a knife straight into the Mayor's gut and Bruce stepped forward, gasping in time with the crowd. Y/n was torn. Why was he torn?! This was simple! Stop this! Right? Surely he could do something.

And yet... he found he didn't want to. God what the hell was wrong with him?

The Mayor fell and people began panicking. The gun shot started and Y/n moved without thinking, slipping behind a curtain and out of sight. He began to move through the curtains until he was far enough fromAlfred not to be stopped, then he was ducking to make sure he didn't get shot- and he waited.

He saw Jerome and Barbara tie up Lee and then make a call. He spoke loudly- it wasn't hard to make out at least one side of the conversation. His demands didn't make sense. They didn't line up at all with his character. Why...?

His maniacal laughter suddenly cut off as he turned to face his newly terrified audience. The moment was interrupted, though, by a new voice. "Enough!" Y/n stepped out from hiding to get a better view, only to see a man he didn't know. That was a new experience on this night where Y/n seemed to be able to put a name to ever face in this room that mattered. "It's time for you to pack up your little sideshow and leave," the man continued. Jerome was still grinning. That didn't make sense either. Why didn't he seemed bummed that his fun was getting interrupted, or a little tentative around the new player he hadn't planned his game around? How had this guy even gotten in, with all the guards outside? It felt off. Y/n could sense it immediately. Even the man spoke like he was... reading lines.

And Jerome responded in the exact same way. Like he was in a show. Like he was acting.

The movements of the two men and the way they formed words seemed so out of place. Even the shot of the gun Barbara used... none of it seemed natural.

Without thinking, Y/n stepped forward. The small noise his steps made immediately caught Jerome's attention. His eyes light up, his smile relaxing to a much more natural place. This was Jerome. The change was impossible to miss for Y/n, who had been carefully studying him so long.

"You," Jerome called, pointing directly at Y/n for the first time tonight. This felt even more thrilling than when Bruce had been picked. Now there was no charade or manipulation. It was just Jerome and Y/n. "Come here." He held up a gun, obviously ready to threaten someone's life to get Y/n to obey, but he was already moving before the words could leave Jerome's mouth. "What a nice boy." Y/n should have been at least pretending to be phased, but he was far too caught up in analyzing Jerome that he didn't think about how his step was confident and unfaltering, taking him to Jerome without any hesitation. He didn't think about the expression on his face, but how it made Jerome specifically respond. By simply having an emotion other than fear, Y/n had caught Jerome's attention and was reveling in it. Jerome could see that too, and it seemed to entertain him even more.

"You just gonna stare at me all day?" Y/n whispered softly, trying not to let his lips twitch into a smirk. Was he... flirting? It felt like he was suddenly outside of his body, watching this train wreck happen, unsure of who was in control or why he was doing anything he was.

Jerome seemed to be absolutely loving it. "Stand here with me." His voice was soft as silk, near purring. Y/n moved to where he motioned and stayed silent. The problem with his new placement: everyone could see his reactions now, not just Jerome. It was time to start acting at the very least.

Turns out he didn't much need to.

Jerome was easily terrifying as he was charismatic.

Every time Y/n thought he had caught on to Jerome schtick, he did something that threw Y/n off completely again. It was all fun and games, playing at murder but then pulling out some joke shot that didn't really make any sense. Did he actually want to keep all of us hostage? Wasn't it enough to have a few? Bruce, me and Alfred because Bruce was Gotham's golden boy, and he wouldn't let anything happen to me or Alfred. Lee Thompkins because she was his bargaining chip. The four of us would be plenty enough of a bargaining chip, maybe a handful more just in case. Why spare everyone, if he really did like killing so much?

There was something to Jerome that really intrigued Y/n. He wondered what the maniac was really thinking. What really drove him to act this way. To take control of a whole room full of Gotham's richest of the most well meaning... only to ask for ridiculous, nonsensical demands and not kill a single one of us.

Again Y/n got that sense, like something else major was actually happening here.

Y/n was zoning out. Missing things. He couldn't focus on the act going. The show that had more layers than what was originally apparent. He missed the whole throw down with Barbara and Lee as well, but caught the gist: Barbara was apparently in love with JimGordon and fancied that they'd end up together. Lee was apparently getting in the way of that. Blah, blah, blah. Girl drama and psychopaths and romance and delusion. Barbara almost killed Lee. Jerome stopped her. So on and so forth.

Then, Jerome attention was on Y/n again all of a sudden, even though he'd been carefully ignoring the boy he'd called up on stage until that point. He grinned at Y/n, the knife he'd taken fromBarbara manifesting in Jerome's hand. The redhead used it more like a finger than a weapon. He ran the dull side of the back of the blade under Y/n's chin, the flipped it so the blade was pressed gently to Y/n's skin. "My favorite volunteer," he said slowly, stepping far too close for what should have been comfortable. "You know, I've seen you on TV."

"And I, you." He hadn't meant to respond, but it had slipped out before he could stop it.

Jerome's head tilted as he popped his chin in pride. "Well, of course. I was meant to be on the big screen. I made my own way. It was my choice to end up where everyone could see me." He took a deep breath in. "You, however... what a scandal." Suddenly Y/n couldn't breath. Jerome roared in giddy, insane laughter. "There he is!" He turned to the audience, motioning to the slight shake of Y/n's body and the sickly pale tint to his skin. "There's that fear! That fear or hate or disgust or whatever it is you all feel for me... except for you." He looked back at Y/n. "We're so similar, Y/n," he sighed. "I'm an orphan too, you know. I don't fear death either."

"You killed your parents," Y/n managed to get out through gritted teeth.

Jerome tilted his head back and forth. "Details, details." The knife was at Y/n's throat again. "You're no fun anymore, you know. Everyone stops being fun at some point. I will give you one thing: you lasted longer than most." The knife pressed further into Y/n's throat and he sucked in a sharp breath as it broke skin, a single drop of blood making a vibrant path down his pale skin.

Gun shots. Suddenly Jerome spun, pressing Y/n's back to his chest, moving the blade so Y/n's was a hostage instead of the focused on target. There was a bit of chaos in the crowd, and Y/n's eyes widened to see Alfred and Jim Gordon of all people mowing through Jerome's lackies. Jim turned his barrel toward Y/n and Jerome. "Let him go!" He shouted. Jerome's giggle rang right next to Y/n's ear. Whatever weird spell from before that had Y/n controlled and calm and still broke and he flinched back away from the blade. Unfortunately, that only brought him closer to Jerome. After a second Jim defeatedly announced, "I don't have a clean shot. Jerome shifted, obviously eager in his moment of victory.

"Stay calm, Y/n," Alfred eased. Bruce was shuffling, knowing it wouldn't help to rush in but having to use every bit of his self control to stop himself from doing just that. He couldn't lose Y/n too. His brother was part of the quickly dwindling family he still had left.

Jerome's breath sounded in Y/n's ear as he gritted his teeth, switching from plying a game to planning an escape. Of course he wanted to get out of here alive. "It seems like we've got ourselves in a bit of a pickle. "What do you say Sweetheart?" Jerome mumbled in his ear. He was twitching, rocking a little from foot to foot. "Why don't we boost our ratings, hm?" The knife moved from one side of Y/n's throat to the other, drawing the smallest line of blood. Y/n gasped, his body shaking in suddenly very real fear. He wondered if this is how his parents had felt, or if they'd died too fast to really be afraid of dying at all. "Smile." Jerome began his wild, broken chittering of a laugh again.

This was familiar. Jerome had been waiting all night to kill someone, and for whatever reason he hadn't. Unfortunately, that meant he was definitely not going to hesitate to now. Y/n closed his eyes, and echoing, "NO!" Coming from his younger brother before he was sure he was about to be enveloped by darkness.

"I said, enough." Jerome let go of Y/n in surprise and both boys turned, unsure where to move from here. Not knowing how to switch gears. There stood the man from earlier. Theo Galavant. Theo grabbed Jerome by the color and drove a knife into the side of his neck. Y/n made a weird, half-choking, half-squeaking sound as the blade made impact into flesh, the audience gasping behind him.

Y/n couldn't move. He fell backwards, tripping over his own feet and barely catching himself as he made his way off the stage and to the ground. Theo must have thought he was further, but he heard it. He heard what the man said next. "I know, I know, I know," he cooed as Jerome choked, dying. Y/n blinked, trying to clear his head. So many thoughts were swimming through it and his chest had begun to tighten and twist. He couldn't breathe. He could still hear though. "This isn't what we rehearsed. I'm so sorry Jerome. You have real talent! But no, you see, the plot thickens. Enter: the hero."

Something horrible settled into Y/n's stomach as Jerome spoke again, his voice weak and raspy. "You... said... I was... gonna be..." He died before the sentence could finish, and Y/n was running. Ramming into Bruce, the boys holding each other tightly as Alfred enveloped them both with his arms.

"It's over," Alfred reassured. "You're safe now, Y/n, it's okay."

The words sounded sincere and full of relief, but Y/n couldn't shake that things were far from over. In fact, he was sure they'd only just begun.

-