#this is a terrible and inadequate response

[hidden-poet]

S. lands on top; 5

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

Darkest content I have ever written. Please don't read unless you are 100% comfortable (and over 18).

Warnings: Graphic sex, violent sex, borderline torture, r*pe, over stimulation, Coriolanus is terrible, terrible, terrible, sexual assault, sex being weaponized, hitting, name calling, punishments, objectification, 18+ ONLY, Coriolanus figures out new kinks (I figure out new kinks), not a safe environment.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

Author's note: I am in no way condoning this type of behavior. This is a pure work of fiction used to explore a safe, and unrealistic feterisation of the desirability and not the actual act in itself. I am sexualizing the character Coriolanus Snow, and not Tom Bylth (I mean no disrespect or objectification to actor).

That being said, I am going to need some love on this chapter if there is a desire out there to read this sort of stuff in a safe environment and contained atmosphere. What you read cannot harm you, unless you are irresponsible and do not take measures to look after your mental and physical health. This is fiction and SHOULD NOT be brought into the real world. I can create more, but will not if it is not wanted or used responsibly.

chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

 Coriolanus sat at his writing desk, completing his last assignment before the break as Mabel lay across the bed, supposed to be completing her own homework. 

But she seemed lost in thought. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Coriolanus had given up on chastising her long ago. 

Between organizing the games, attending lectures and keeping up with his course work, Coriolanus had no time to play games with Mabel. No matter how tempting she was.

 The break would be well deserved and well used. 

Completing this last assignment would free Coriolanus to focus on Mabel and her behavior. Reaping Day was only a week away, and she was inadequate to be presented to Dr. Gaul.

She knew that Reaping Day had consequences for the both of them. He told her time and time again of the dangers of Dr. Gaul, but the fight is what kept Mabel alive. If she rolled over for him once, she felt she might be stuck there.

Coriolanus could hear her as she moved off the bed. He was about to demand that she sit back down and complete her work but her footsteps made their way over to him and not out the door. 

It was the first time she had ever approached him without the intent to hurt him. It was a welcome change when she swung her leg around his waist and not a punch.  

So he put down his pen to give her his full attention, eager to see how this would play out. 

She sat on his lap, twining her small fingers into the curls of his hair. Her green eyes stared back bravely into intimidating blue ones. 

“All you ever do is work,” she states. Her voice carries a seductive tone. “No wonder you’re crazy.” 

His hips buck up into her in desperation. He scolds himself for it. He had more self-control than that. 

“Are you offering a study break?”

“I am offering you the night of your life.” 

He had no idea where this change was coming from. Just this morning she deliberately knocked a pot of hot tea onto his lap. Luckily, it had cooled enough not to burn him but it angered him all the same. 

Now she was offering herself to him. He knew it was a trick. She was playing the only card she had after fighting for so long to keep it. 

He goes to kiss her, testing how much he could get out of this.

His head is yanked back, her hands digging into his hair to keep him at bay. 

“For a train ride back home.” Mabel finished. 

His lips curl up into a smirk. He could almost laugh at her.

“Think about it, Coriolanus. You’ll bore of me sooner or later,” she begins to grind her hips into his. He fights to keep his focus. 

“This, what you feel now. It’ll be gone.” His hands catch her hips to stop her moving. Her tongue was her weapon, and his clear head was his.

“But it’s here now. You could have it.” She yanks his head back as far as she could but follows with her lips hovering over his.

He thinks about just lying. After all, there was no obligation to keep any promise he gives her. 

But he did want a relationship with Mabel, one that had a certain level of trust. She would do nothing for him without trust. And there would be no chance of her teaming up with him against Dr. Gaul. He remembers how important trust is in District 12. 

Satisfaction now could result in negative long term consequences. And Coriolanus was in this for the long term. 

She moves her lips to the shell of his ear and begins to speak gently into it. 

“You could think about me for years. Marry a pretty Capitol girl but think of me as you fuck her.” Her body was pressed tightly against him but she managed to squeeze a hand between them and knead his inner thigh.  “Think of this night, when a District girl fucked your brains out for hours.”

Coriolanus pushes her back by her shoulders. It was almost too much for him. His lust clouded his judgment. He needed to regain control, she had snatched it from him so easily. He was going to be President of Panem. Now was the time to show the cunningness it took to control. 

“I’ll be gone by morning, and you could keep the memory of me. Forget the struggles and fights. When you bore, that’ll be all that's left.” 

Coriolanus reaches out to take her chin in between his forefinger and thumb. Restricting her movements as she did to him. 

‘‘When I get bored of you, I’ll pass you along to someone else. Plinth seemed to have taken a shine to you. Maybe you Districts can bond over the home you’ll never see again.”

His words angered her, he could see it in her eyes. He wasn’t sure if he would ever bore of this. The constant power struggle. He loved it. Winning control gave him such a thrill. He loved the fight Mabel put up because he was always going to win it. He was stronger, smarter. He had  every card and she had none. Yet her nature made surrender an implausible possibility, and his competitive nature never tired of the defeat. 

“Maybe,” she spat as she tore herself from his lap, “Maybe, he might finally make me come too.” 

She threw herself back down on the bed amongst her school work. 

Her words should have upset him, he knew she came more often than not, prided himself on the fact. His ego wasn’t bruised, instead a thrill ran through him. The resistance and consequences were the most fun. 

—---------------

The next day, Coriolanus excused himself from work, claiming he had a cold. It was only midday but his tired colleagues were supportive of him going home. They all hoped that it would lead to an early mark for all of them. Sickness was contagious, it was possible for them all to have one too.

To Coriolanus’s luck, Dr. Gaul was traveling through the Districts, marking the best spots to host the Reapings. So she wasn’t there to witness Coriolanus act like a desperate school boy.

He was sure word would get to her as it always did, but there was no cold hard stare dissuading him now. 

Tigris wouldn’t be home from work until 5:30, and Grandma’am wouldn’t be home long after that. The old women hated being left alone with Mabel. She was adamant that Coriolanus build a servants' quarters where Mabel could be hidden. 

That meant that he had Mabel all to himself for the whole afternoon, and he was going to use every second.

Only a quick detour to pick up the things he would need could be excused. He made the chauffeur park a block away in front of a cafe and wrote a list. Coriolanus couldn’t be seen engaging in such disgraceful behavior but a faceless chauffeur could. 

His driver was about the same age as Coriolanus but had made some perilous mistakes that rendered him a tongueless Avox. Coriolanus had a vague memory that he used to play with a young child in his primary education days that resembled the young driver now, but Coriolanus didn’t dwell on it. That was the past, the future is what concerns him. 

The chauffeur looks at the list with wide eyes. He knew the items listed were to be used against the young girl he had taken back to the Snow’s penthouse, but he went and got them anyway. 

It was only a quick trip back to the house after that. Coriolanus tore the items out of the packages and continued accordingly. His footsteps were quick as he made his way through the large building. The people in front of him were too slow, it seemed like the elevator took years to get to him. He was just about to leap up the stairs when the doors opened just in time. 

Peacekeepers guarded his door in case Grandma’am or Tigris came home early. 

“You’re not needed.” He comments as he passes the Peacekeepers. They move almost instantly. 

He locks the door behind him, the bag crumples in his hold. 

Mabel sat sewing dresses for Tigris's shop. Despite spending her days making clothes, Mabel only had the green dress from Tigris and wore Coriolanus’s clothes to bed. 

She eyes him cautiously from the couch. There was something in his eyes that gave him away. Mabel decides the best course of action was to run.

He chases her into the dining room where she uses the long table as a barrier between them. 

They pause at each end. Coriolanus was first to make a move and Mabel reacted by swiftly moving in the opposite direction. 

The room is silent apart from their shuffling of feet. Impatient, Coriolanus throws himself across the table but Mabel jumps back to the entrance and retreats to the living room. 

Her bare feet thud across the marble floor as she made her way to the door. Her only chance was the door falsely locking. Everywhere else was a dead end. The apartment was large and filled with rooms but they were all locked and unlocked at Coriolanus’s command. 

She twisted and pulled but the door wouldn’t even budge. 

She could hear Coriolanus reaching her and she slid back across the hallway as Coriolanus came barreling into the door.  He chases her back into the dining room where he had dropped the bag. 

Before she could distance herself around the table, Coriolanus caught her arm and threw her into the polished wood. 

He managed to catch her flailing arms but her screaming gave him the headache had had lied about. 

He gathers her wrists and uses them to pull her over his shoulder so he can hoist her up.

She kicks and hits as he carries her to the bedroom, but it only gives him further justification for what he planned to do. He squats down to pick up the bag he dropped. He couldn’t leave it, given its purpose. 

With the door kicked shut, he drops Mabel on the bed and crawls on top of her, holding her still. 

They wrestle on the bed as Coriolanus struggles to take her dress off as Mable thrashes under him. 

But once off her shoulders, he took the handcuffs from the bag, attaching them easily to a bedpost where he could secure her. 

She panics as the first cuff is secured around her wrist and as Coriolanus reaches for the other, she sinks her teeth into the skin of his hand. 

He yells from the pain. The bite on his shoulder searing in pain from the memory. . 

A sharp backhand throws her down, making it easier to lock her in place. 

“I am going to fucking kill you!” She screams at him. It was a good time to bring out the gag from the bag and secure it in place. 

She continues to kick violently, still trying to hurt Coriolanus. He admired it. Beat and yet still fighting. 

He wanted her completely still so he continued his work, pulling out similar cuffs designed for her ankles and fastened them in place. What was left in the bag was two-meter lengths of rope which he tied around her knees to pull them completely open. He attaches the ends to the base of the bed with a knot he learned from his Peacekeeper stint. 

He stares admiring his work. She struggled against the restraints but could move very little. It was perfect, and he had hours to enjoy it. Unless Tigris came home early. With that thought, he locked the main bedroom door. 

With one last lingering look, he reached into the bag and pulled out the ‘pièce de résistance’. 

It was a small bullet-sized vibrator. It shook between his fingers. She kicked as much as she could as he inserted it dry. 

With the bullet doing its job, Coriolanus did his. He had wanted to explore Mabel's body for as long as he could remember. And with no pressing time limits he would complete this search now. 

He starts down by her feet, letting his lips drag over her skin. He examines every mole and scar along her. Kissing when he wanted to and biting because he could. It took a while, but he reached just behind her knee of the opposite leg he started with when she first came.

 From how slow he was going, he guessed it took half an hour for her first one. He wondered where he would reach for the next one. He smoothed his hands out over her skin, peppering kisses on odd spots. He had gone from her fingertips to her shoulder when her next climax came. 

He was in no rush to do anything. He explored her body the way he wanted to. She tried to headbutt him as he attempted to reach her ear but he caught her throat in his hand before it landed. He spent the next 15 minutes just on her ear alone. Biting and sucking on the lobe. He was still there when she came next. He moved on to the other ear then and waited until her next orgasm which took longer. 

After his mouth had left a cold, wet trail over every inch of her body, he took the time to count her freckles. It annoyed him when her body spasmed with another orgasm and he had to start again. 52 little brown dots was the final count. 

He moved from the bed only twice, first to remove his shoes, coat, and jewelry. And second, because he felt hungry around late afternoon. He went to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich and drink before returning to the bedroom to eat it. He didn’t want to miss Mabel's next orgasm.  

After a break of just tracing his finger around her body, and watching as she came, again and again, he decides to begin again with his mouth. 

Her legs shook from overstimulation. Coriolanus could feel them as they trembled underneath his lips. Her pussy was glistening and swollen. It looked sore from the abuse, but it was far from over. 

Her moisture dripped below her and down her inner thighs but Coriolanus just knew that her throat must be itchy and dry. He could offer her a drink of water, seeing as it had been hours of this torture, but he doesn’t.  

She had tried begging before or at least that’s what Coriolanus assumed. It could have been more insults but the crying after it made insults seem unlikely. The crying only lasted 10 minutes before her exhaustion didn’t allow her to do even that. 

She looked beautiful like this: entirely his. Under his control and mercy.

He licked the cum from her shaking thighs and moved to sit on her stomach. He was still fully clothed to add to her humiliation. 

She groaned from the weight of him. It came out muffled from under her gag but he could hear it. Her eyes were closed, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing the fear in them. 

His fingers pinched at her erect nipple, twisting it, and massaging her breast under his hand. 

Her breasts were small but a handful was all Coriolanus needed. 

Bore of this? He thought to himself. He wouldn’t object to perfunctory sex with Mabel but this is an elevated high he never thought feasible. 

A whine came from her again and he wondered if she was going to begin begging again. If she was, she was interrupted by reaching another climax that turned her begging into a muffled yell. 

Her hips buck underneath him as it ripples through her. Coriolanus watches her face as it screws up in painful pleasure. She throws her head back into her pillow three times as it passes. 

He wonders what she would say if she could say anything. Her begging is muffled, so she felt free to speak her mind but would the words flow from her mouth knowing that it would give Coriolanus confirmation. 

When her eyes fling open, it almost shocks Coriolanus. They had been closed for the past four hours. Her eyes tell him she is tired but still oh so defiant. If he was to take off her gag, he was sure that she would spit at him. 

Something about it aroused him further. 

He takes his weight off her and goes back to the end of the bed. More cum had leaked from her, making her thighs once again glisten. 

Deciding to give her a break, he reaches in and pulls the rotating device from her. It was holding in some residue cum that poured onto the bed sheets. She began breathing heavily again now that the tension was gone from her body. The poor thing thinks it’s over.

He blows gently on her abused pussy. Even the air was too much after the overstimulation. 

She tries to close her legs but the ropes stop her. 

A kiss is firmly planted on her clitoris and her wetness soaks Coriolanus's lips. She whines again, bucking her hips up to try and get him off. He cages her legs between his arms, pinning them under his shoulders as he digs his nose into the spot and begins to swirl, licking and lapping with his tongue sporadically. 

Her thighs still shake under him, and his legs join in anticipation. He rises himself to undress completely before dragging her by her knees into her own wet spot on the bed and inserting himself. She grips the chain at the intrusion. He could tell it caused her discomfort, maybe even pain as he did, but he slid in so easily. 

Her wetness meant that friction was hard to pick up so he slammed into her harshly for his own satisfaction. He had angled her so she was slightly raised from the bed as far as the ropes would allow and pounded into her with such force that she jolted at each thrust.

Her fingers clawed at what they could as Coriolanus had his way with her. 

Her swollen cunt clenched around him making Coriolanus groan in pleasure. 

The pressure around his cock got tighter and tighter as she reached another climax. Coriolanus was not far behind her after holding out for hours. 

As she came around him, it was enough for Coriolanus to come with her. 

He wanted to make a snide remark about how he could make her come but his mind was swimming. He drives his cock as far as he could into her even though he was empty. They remain like that, Coriolanus keeping Mabel there with a strong grip on her hips. Occasionally he would rock his hips back and forth, fucking the cum back into her. 

By the time Coriolanus caught his breath, he could hear the faint sound of Tigris’s heels coming down the hall. 

Mabel opened her eyes again, sure now that it was finally over. Coriolanus was hesitant to show his family his darker side. Mabel was subdued to never talk about it with threats to her family. So suspicions were never confirmed.

“Mabel?” The locked door jiggles. “Are you in there?” 

With a sigh, Coriolanus separates himself and goes over to the other side of the door. 

“Don’t come in, Tigris.” She couldn’t with the door locked anyway. “Mabel has been sick.”

He throws his gaze back to Mabel still tied to the bed.

“Let me in. I can help.” Tigris tries the locked door again. 

“She’s asked for privacy.” 

Mabel's brows furrow, but loosen as she forms a plan. While tied, her hands still had a little movement which she used to bang against the wooden headboard to alert her friend to her danger. 

Coriolanus rushes over and stills her hands firmly against the headboard. He was going to make her pay for that. 

Tigris had heard it and asked what the noise was. 

“Go away. Don’t worry. I’ll look after Mabel.”

Mabel instantly knew the underlying threat and went limp in his hold. 

He remains motionless until Tigris’s footsteps disappear back down the hall.

Only then does he move across the room to retrieve the cane used by her governess. 

It was a thin metal stick that a heavy piece of leather attached to the end that was used to smack down on hands. 

Mabel watched him as he brought it over. She pulled against her restraints but they were the best money could buy. 

He stood by her side, closest to the door so he could hear any more visitors.

Bringing the leather down to her clit, he began slapping the rod down unpleasantly.

He hit harder on her thighs, and more forcefully on her stomach, but only a rap on her breasts. He rotated randomly between the four areas of her cunt, thigh, stomach, and breasts, so she could never brace herself for the next hit.  

Her skin turned red from the assaults and her sobs hiccuped between her heavy breathing. 

There were sure to be black bruises the next day. A reminder for her. 

He taps the whip one-two-three-four times more harshly against her cunt than previously, before kneeling down and dropping it completely. 

He is at level with her perfect breast and he takes it into his mouth. His teeth grazed the sore and sensitive skin. He sucked like an infant while his hand groped her other breast between his fingers. He squeezed too hard for it to be of any pleasure for Mabel. 

He had grown painfully hard again. Now seeking his next relief he stands and unlocks one cuff with his fingerprint. 

Mabel instantly reaches for her gag but her wrist is caught and brought towards Coriolanus’s throbbing cock. She tries to pull her hand free but it is forced around his member and with his hand on top of hers, he begins to move it back and forth. 

She concedes and follows his movement with his hand now free and off hers, he uses it to redirect her face to what she is doing. 

He holds the back of her hair steady and keeps it in place as he feels his end nearing. 

His cum squirts out over her. Her face and chest now dripping with it. 

He was so caught up he failed to hear Tigris coming back down the hall. 

“Coryo, Mabel. Dinner is ready”. 

Coriolanus takes a deep breath before answering as evenly as he could, “We’ll be right there.” 

But he clips Mabel's hand back into the cuff. 

A whole afternoon of sex had relaxed Coriolanus. Everything that had bothered him before now seemed so silly. Was this all he needed all along to relieve the tension he always felt? He felt so good. But poor Mabel had taken his hurt. 

But she was bad and bad girls get punished. He had told her this. She needed to learn her place and this was a perfect example of it. 

Coriolanus wiped his cum from her chest down her stomach. She shuddered as he did it. She was sticky and wet and so, so beautiful. 

He looks down at his sticky hands and goes to the bathroom to wash them. Wiping a warm washcloth over himself to rid the mixture of cum he had picked up. He disregards the used washcloth and grabs another to wash the smell of sex off him. 

He runs it over his arms and shoulders as he walks to his closet to pick out an outfit for dinner. Deciding on his navy suit pants and white dress shirt, he finishes running the rag over himself and drops it to the floor.

Mabel was so still, if it wasn't for her shallow breathing, he would have thought he killed her. 

Now dressed, he goes back to her and stands on the end of the bed. He could hear the buzzing of the device but couldn’t see it. Mabel lay with her eyes closed, resting. 

He finds it and shoves it back inside of her. 

It causes her eyes to shoot back open. This time he was sure she was begging him to take it out. Her head shook ‘no’ when her words failed her. 

He smiles down at her, feeling like a god. 

“To make up for my previous inadequacies.” 

He leaves the room, making sure to relock it. 

Tigris, of course, asks him where Mabel was when he reached the dinner table. He continues with the ‘unwell’ lie and eats with a hunger he never knew, even during the war. 

—---

He skips dessert to attend to Mabel and warn off any more questions from Tigris. 

The room was quiet and dark. She lay on the bed motionless. The slight buzz sound could be heard the closer he got but Mabel's legs lay limp, unresponsive to it. 

He reaches down gently and pulls the device out for the final time. When he switches it off, Mabel considers the ordeal over. 

He unlocks the cuffs from her wrists and ankles and unties the rope from her knees. He half expects her to be filled with a burst of energy but all she could do is curl into a ball as she is released. Her eyes never open and her mouth never makes a sound. 

He switches on the lamp to see her more clearly. Her skin was still red and glistened with his cum. 

Her thighs were smeared with a small amount of blood that leaked from her abused hole. 

Perhaps he went too hard, but he didn’t feel sorry for it. 

She still doesn’t move as Coriolanus picks her up. No whimper or sound. She let him do what he wanted and that’s all he had ever asked of her. 

He places her in the large tub and runs hot water for her bath. Her head tilts to the side as she rests and Coriolanus brushes her hair from her face. 

He leaves her there to return to the bedroom, ringing down on the service phone for the changing of his sheets. 

The hot water begins to cover her body which is slumped down. He pulls her back up by her neck and keeps his hold in case she slips under. 

She sighs as the hot water surrounds  her. Her body ached with pain. If she had any water left in her she would have cried. 

Coriolanus leans against the bathtub watching as the water rises above her. It all seemed surreal to finally have done the debauched acts he had dreamed about doing since he first saw her. Just having sex was one thing, but that was a performance. A period of time when he could do anything and everything he wanted. A quickie in the shower or a quiet struggle at night did not satisfy Coriolanus the way this had. 

He had to get Tigris and Grandma’am out of the house, or he and Mabel could leave. He could no longer live by their rules. He wanted Mabel completely under his control like she was an hour ago, not safeguarded by virtuous Tigris. 

He had waited all through his tortuous months as a Peacekeeper, watching her as she was protected by men much larger than himself. Even with his position and weapons, he was no match if one of them decided to fight him off. But now he was. Now no one stood in his way, apart from Dr. Gaul. But once he won the presidency, he would deal with her then. 

He remembered the night of Mayfair’s murder. Watching Mabel as Lucy Gray sang his song. She had her hair twisted on top of her head, hot and sweaty from dancing. She was surrounded by her friends and hopeful men and sat drinking something that was bought for her. She talked through his song to her man on her left. She was missing the song. He wanted to do something. To force her to listen to the words of the song. 

He was desirable just like her. He was powerful, and resourceful. Saved Lucy Gray from the Hunger Games. If she would just listen, surely she would want him just as Lucy Gray had. But she laughed over his name. The anger he felt proved useful when it came time to kill Mayfair but buried itself into his body until it could be released upon his target. Tonight it left his body, and Coriolanus felt as if a weight had been released. 

He turns off the water, hearing a forceful knock at the door. The maids were here to change the sheets.

‘‘Sit up. Don’t drown.” He demands, letting go of Mabel's neck to answer the door. 

To his surprise, Tigris stood with the maids. Her tall frame towered over them. 

He was careful only to let the maids through the door. 

“She’s thrown up all over the bed. Leave her be, Tigris.”

She eyes the room behind him, trying to find Mabel. She offers to make up the spare bed for him to sleep in, but he knew it was to create distance between him and Mabel. 

It hit the final nail on his decision, Tigris and Grandma’am could no longer live with him. 

“I’ll stay with her tonight to make sure she is alright.” He shoves himself through his door and slams it in Tigris’s face. 

The maids had stripped the bed and he ordered one to fetch him two bottles of water before disappearing back into the bathroom. 

The door is shut offering privacy. 

Mabel still had her eyes closed and a crumpled frame. He resumes his spot on the floor next to her. 

“I would like an apology for your comment last night.” 

She doesn’t offer one. Coriolanus was glad. He wanted to keep at least some of her fighting spirit. 

But disobedience still had to be punished. 

He lowers his hand down into the water towards her sex. She jolts, squeezing her legs as tightly as her weak muscles would allow.

“Okay-okay. I am sorry.” Her voice was raspy and barely existent. 

He lets her finish her bath in peace. The water was nearly cold by the time he reached down and pulled the plug from under her. 

She had rarely moved as she soaked. He doesn’t wait for the water to disappear as he picks her up from the tub and moves her to sit on the counter by the sink. Her body was weak and she leaned against the glass as he dried her with a towel. 

He rolled up his wet sleeves, unsure of why he didn’t do it earlier. He had just wanted to get Mabel out of the bath and into bed but at even the slightest expense to himself? Maybe he was just tired also. 

He brought her forward so he could reach behind her for her toothbrush. She tries to take it after he applies the paste, but he is resistant to give it to her. Her hold was so weak, that it would surely topple to the floor.

He forces it between her lips to give her teeth a quick brush. The foam dribbles down her chin as she spit it out. Using the same towel, he wipes her clean before picking her up once more. 

He sits her on the ottoman and she falls back into the newly made bed. She was so tired. She couldn’t care where or how she slept. But Coriolanus did. 

He found his nicest pair of silk pajamas. They were deep brown and soft as butter. 

She was awake enough to see him bring them back over but they were entirely wrong for her. 

They reeked of him. They fit her too loosely. Reminded her too much of all she had lost. 

They caused a surge of energy. Enough to sit up and resist the clothes as Coriolanus dressed her like a doll. It was a struggle to get her hand through the first sleeve but as his movements became rougher, her fight fled. 

He wondered why it was so important that she was clean and comfortable. Why didn’t he leave her in her own mess, or let her sleep naked if she was going to fight him on it? What did it say about him? About how he felt about Mabel?

He assured himself it was the war. He had very little but always took very good care of the things he did have. This was the same. He was only ensuring that his things would last. 

Besides, when she was good, he would treat her nicely. He could, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t ruthless enough to run Panem. He was sure that even Dr. Gaul let her favorite pets sleep in the bed with her. 

As soon as he pulled her up to her pillow and laid her down into the fresh sheets, she fell asleep. It was the easiest bedtime since she was brought here. He pulls the blanket over her, tucking her in before he has his own shower. 

He returns to the dim light, straining to see if Mabel was awake. 

Mabel had not moved, even in her sleep.

He dresses and turns off the lamp. He wiggled next to Mabel, lowering his shoulder from its natural height so Mabel's cheek was pressed against it. It was silly and out of place after everything he had done, but it felt right to him. 

He wondered how she would wake. Would it be with a newfound obedience or did Coriolanus have many more nights like this on the cards? He secretly hoped for the latter. 

—-----------

When Coriolanus woke the next morning Mabel was still asleep. 

In his kindness, he decided to let her sleep longer. Last night was sure to have worn her out. 

He takes another shower, taking time to groom himself and apply his skin care. 

When he was finished, Mabel was still asleep. It was early, not even seven in the morning, so Coriolanus finished dressing without disturbing her. 

She looked so small in the massive bed. So delicate. If he didn’t know her, he would have never believed that such a small frame could carry such a big mouth. 

He closes the door quietly as he exits for breakfast.

Grandma’am and Tigris were already sitting at the table, picking food from the center. 

“Where’s Mabel?” Tigris asked.

“Asleep,” Coriolanus takes a pastry off the centerpiece and talks to the maid as he sits, “Put aside a plate for her.”

“You’re not going to wake her for breakfast?”

“She is still ill.” 

“Lazy,” Grandma’am spits out, “Districts are all lazy.” 

“Oh dear, maybe I should stay home today.” Tigris offers. 

“And watch her sleep?” Coriolanus mocks. Mabel knew to keep their relationship between the two of them but after last night it was best to err on the side of caution. 

“She’s sick, Coriolanus. She needs someone to take care of her.” 

She was Coriolanus's pet and Coriolanus's responsibility. 

“The Peacekeepers have a direct line to my office. If she needs something they can’t provide, I will take care of it.” 

Tigris pushes back her eggs, no longer hungry. 

“I still think-” she begins but Coriolanus’s temper flares. 

“You know what I think, Tigris? Perhaps it would be best for Mabel and I to find an apartment closer to the city.” 

“Move out from the Snow penthouse?” Grandma’am exclaims. 

“If Tigris will not stop interfering, what choice do we have, Grandma’am?” Coriolanus responds. 

“Interfere? Interfere with what exactly? Your violation of that poor girl? Is she sick, or have you done something to her? This is-this is…No!” Tigris gets up flustered.

“Sit down, Tigris,” Coriolanus demands, “Mabel is sick. It was bound to happen. She is District. She is not used to Capitol illnesses.’’ 

“Listen to your cousin, dear. Sit.” Grandma’am beckons. 

Grandma’am knew that if Coriolanus was to move out, his protection would go with him. Grandma’am had lived a hard and bitter life since the war, she was determined to die in peace. 

Tigris does sit back down, but remains in her frazzled state. 

Mabel was still asleep by the time everyone had left the apartment. Coriolanus left her a bottle of water and some painkillers next to her on her bedside, alongside a note letting her know there was food in the fridge for her. 

Work was more bearable with last night still running through his mind. He was in a good mood all day. It made him stand out amongst his gloomy coworkers. Nothing was too much trouble. He could take that extra task on. He could wait while his assistant readied documents due hours ago. 

Mabel was going to be of great use when he became President. He laughs quietly to himself as fleshes out his new game ideas on paper. 

“President Snow, how do you manage the pressure of it all?”

“The satisfaction of knowing I am serving my country keeps me preserving through difficult times.”

Meanwhile, Mabel would be back at the presidential estate tied to his bed, waiting for him. 

A small giggle escapes into the silent room and floats through the air. Coriolanus sits up straighter, fixing his face into a scowl as people look for the source of the laughter. 

Did Dr. Gaul laugh?  Did Dr Gaul ever kiss and pet her animals? What would she think of him if she could see him giddy as a schoolboy?

He used to pride himself on his self-control but Mabel had deteriorated it. 

She was a source of pleasure, where he had only known pain. The pain kept him sharp. 

He was doing so well. Too well to be thrown off balance by her. 

He reshuffles his pages to a blank piece. With Mabel on his mind, his proposal was weak. 

To impress Dr Gaul, he needed to show her that he was just as ruthless in his pleasure, as he was in his pain. 

—---------

He got home an hour after he was supposed to. No one was surprised when he was late. Not with the games just around the corner. 

His tired eyes were looking forward to seeing Mabel, but as he entered the apartment only Grandma’am, and Tigris greeted him. 

He kisses Grandma’am hello as she croons about his long day. Tigris sat in the living room matching patterns, clearly still angry. 

“Where’s Mabel?” he asks. He knew she was either in the kitchen or bedroom, but it seemed odd that she would leave her friend. They were normally joined at the hip as soon as Tigris came home from work. 

Tigris’s eyes shoot up at him. Before Mabel, Tigris had never looked at him with such hatred.

“She’s in bed. She hasn’t moved all day. I sat with her for an hour, she didn’t say a word.” 

Coriolanus makes his way to the bedroom to see it is completely dark. She didn’t even move to turn on a lamp. 

His sounders tensed with the thought that he had damaged his new toy. He had only wanted to control the spark, not extinguish it. 

He knew she could hear him as he approached her but she gave him no attention. 

He hoped to at least have her yell at him. Demand he get out, but everything was silent. 

Sitting on the bed next to her, he places a hand on her shoulder and speaks softly. 

“Mabel get up.”

She ignores him which angers him greatly. 

He sees she has taken her painkillers and drank her water. She had no reason to act this bratty. 

“What you did yesterday was…” She pauses to take a breath. 

Coriolanus’s mind races with answers: Exhilarating, memorable, long overdue. 

“Cruel.” She finished. From her perspective, maybe.

“You know, I’ve spent all day trying to remember you back in 12. I can only remember that night at the Hobb. Your eyes. So blue.” Her green eyes look up at his, “They gave you away.”

He could remember every occasion that Mabel came into view. But he watched from the shadows, and she danced in the light. 

“Mabel, I have given you no delusions as to why you are here. I’ve been very honest about your situation.” 

“Did you kill Mayfair?”

“Yes,” he admits. He felt his secret was safe with her. 

“Lucy Gray?” 

“Yes.” 

She doesn’t look afraid. Only defiant. It relieved Coriolanus to no end. He hadn’t broken his favorite toy. She was regaining her strength for battle. 

She sits up causing Coriolanus to lean slightly back to avoid a collision.

“Your eyes,” she states, “There’s something so dark behind them, that’s why I remembered them. I thought ‘run Lucy Gray!’ when I saw them.”

“She tried.” 

“I won’t run.”

“You won’t get the chance.” Coriolanus rises from the bed but keeps his eyes trained on Mabel. 

“I won’t run,” she repeats, “I’ll kill you.” 

He took her jaw roughly into his hands, turning it left and right as he spoke. 

“There’s not a single thought in that pretty little head of yours, is there?”

“There’s only one.” 

Coriolanus smiles down at her, despite her threat. She was so beautiful with her long dark eyelashes and her long dark hair that twisted past her shoulders and lay splayed out around her.

“I watched you for months as a Peacekeeper. Imagining all the things I would do if I could.'' He tucks her hair back behind her ear as he continues speaking, “Now here you are. Right under my fingertips. Mine. Free to do as I wish with.” 

He pushes her head back as he releases his hold of her jaw to stand.

“You thought I was cruel last night? Imagine what I am capable of when I am truly motivated.”

 He pulls down his sleeves that had rode up from his movements. It was important to look put together at all times. 

“I’ve dreamt of you for so long, Mabel . I will have you exactly how I want.”

“For now,” she concedes.

He squints his eyes at her. The things he would do if Tigris wasn't already waiting. 

“You need to come out and show Tigris that you are fine.” 

He could tell that she was in pain from her tense and slow movements but her face was brave.

Still dressed in his brown nightwear, she walks tall to the door, never looking behind her. 

—--------------

Coriolanus arrives home well after dinner due to Dr. Gaul arriving back in the Capitol. Now that the screening locations were picked, she didn’t want her efforts to be wasted. They all had to think of ways to prolong the screening. 

She was happy with nothing unless it added to the misery of districts. Coriolanus watched as she pushed and hinted at what she truly wanted. She was not interested in sharing ideas, she only wanted the participation of the group to distribute the blame. They were all in this together.

 All monsters of the Capitol. All a fine example of the human condition: hidden by fine clothing, and etiquette but at the core animals that believed in nothing but survival of the fittest. 

Coriolanus finally guessed at what she was getting at, and they could all go home, nearly three hours after the official day had ended. 

Coriolanus was eager to get home and relieve some of the stress that he felt. Gamemaking was not for the faint of heart. 

They had waited to have dinner with him, much to Coriolanus’s annoyance. Grandma’am was adamant that it was disrespectful to eat without the man who put the food on the table. 

It fanned Coriolanus's ego so he sat alongside Mabel and ate his dinner in silence. 

All he wanted to do was retire to his room with Mabel and read. He skipped dessert to do so, much to Mabel's disappointment. 

He did enjoy Mabel's company. Even just her presence in the room helped to settle him. Was she a symbol of his power? A silent promise to the man he is to become? He had no idea why she had this effect on him, only that she did. 

After a whole day of tense conversation with Dr Gaul, he could finally relax and read his book. 

He forced Mabel to do her reading homework as well, so she didn’t annoy him. 

Her book was for Capitol children and yet it still was above her level. She sat on the bed trying to read it while Coriolanus stretched out on his desk, reading for pleasure. 

She grew frustrated, throwing her book onto the floor. Coriolanus shuts his own book to pay attention to her. 

“Something the matter?”

“The cat sat on the mat, the mat sat on the cat. Who cares? Not me.” 

Her hair was pinned up by something but it was mostly coming apart. Ringlets fall and frame her face, giving her an endearing disheveled look. 

With his book back on his desk, Coriolanus goes to entertain Mabel.

Mabel is pushed to the bed as Coriolanus crawls on top of her, his head aiming for her neck. She lays unenthusiastically beneath him.

“Is Tigris dumb?”

Coriolanus stopped kissing her neck to respond. 

“What?”

“I wouldn’t mind if she’s dumb,” Her eyes focused on a faraway spot in the corner, Coriolanus had trouble regaining her attention. 

“But she’s my friend,” Mabel continues, “And she acts like she doesn’t know what you are doing. If she ain’t dumb, then she ain’t loyal. And if she ain’t loyal, we ain’t friends.” 

‘‘Isn’t,’’ he goes back to his work on her neck, ‘‘Are not.” 

He rises once more to look at her,  “We don’t say ‘ain’t’.”

“Well, I say ‘ain’t’.” Mabel pushes back on his shoulders and he takes it as a sign that more forceful measures must be taken. 

“She told me, ya know. About your childhood. How she looked after you, how poor you were. She reckons that’s why you are the way you are.”

“Mabel, don’t make yourself familiar with me.” He grabs her arm harshly and pulls her from where she lay into a kneeling position on the floor. 

“‘He doesn’t mean it,’ she said. ‘He’s been through a lot’.”

Coriolanus undoes his pants, and Mabel remains kneeling on the floor. 

“So maybe she is just dumb.” Her words are fierce but her frame shrinks underneath him. Her hands stuck together on her lap, her spine slightly curled like she wanted to roll herself into a ball. 

Coriolanus grabs her jaw to straighten her, his other hand snaking into her hair. He stands up and positions himself correctly. She couldn’t be trusted to do it by herself, so he kept a strong hold on her jaw to ensure it didn’t close, and a painful grip on the back of her head to ensure that she didn’t move away. 

He begins to fuck her mouth at a frustrated pace. 

She chokes as he pushes himself all the way in. Slamming his hips back and forth into her. 

She reaches up to take hold of the back of his pant leg, trying to steady herself.

“You don’t look like a big, tough girl now. Do you still feel like one?” he taunts, feeling her nails dig into the fabric of his pants. 

“Getting awfully friendly with me. Are we friends, Mabel? Or are you my little slut?”

His hips buck harshly in time with his words, “My-beautiful-little-slut.” 

Before resuming their quick, and needy pace, he spat out “You know what your problem is, Mabel. You never know when to shut the fuck up.” 

Her fingers curl around the fabric of his pants.

“You’re so brave, Mabel. And what did it get you? A mouthful of cock. A belly full of cum. Was it worth it?”

He could feel her jaw move under his hand but his tight hold disallowed her speech. He was going to talk, she was going to listen.��

“You think I like being cruel?  I do.  But you know what I think? You like it too. You like being shown who's boss. Again-Ah- and again.” 

He slows his pace down, dragging his cock slowly along her tongue.

“Those District boys never quite did it for you. Did they? That's why you kept cycling through them. You were waiting for a man like me to put you in your place. On your knees.” 

Her eyes flamed at him but she could do nothing more. 

She gags when he pushes too far but he doesn’t stop. 

Drool spilt from the corner of her mouth, and her eyes watered but he felt no pity. 

“You’re not dumb, Mabel. Haven’t you realized that when you’re nice, I am nice? Or have you realized that when you’re mean, I am mean?’’.

He laughs at her, angry and powerless on the floor. She digs her nails into the back of his thighs. With four more uncontrolled thrusts, he spills into her mouth and throws her back like a dirty rag.

She’s left on the floor, eyes watering and gasping for air with cum dripping off her lips. 

He drags her by the arm to the corner of the room where he forces her back into her knees facing the wall. 

“You don’t want to read your book? Fine.” 

He balances it on top of her head. “Stay there while I finish mine.”

Mabel, still ever so defiant, turns as he walks away and throws the book at him. Hitting him with a thud against his back. 

“You sick fuck!” she calls out. She goes to get up but Coriolanus is too quick for her, grabbing a thin book from his stack and shoving it between her teeth. He pushes her shoulder back towards the wall, reaching blindly for the rod he knew was close at hand. 

Feeling the cool metal between his fingers he brings it four times against her back. The book drops as she shouts and Coriolanus’s hand replaces it until the fourth strike hits. 

He picks it up again. It was a thin book, only 100 pages in length about the legislative process of government. It was short in nature given the hierarchy of parliament. It could be summed up in a sentence: the president spoke and the rest rushed to make his sentence a reality. 

He tells her to bite down and she does against the spin of the book. With her there, he goes to the locked drawer at his desk where he hid his toys from the maid. He brings out the cuffs he brought and secures her hands behind her back to make her task harder. 

Rebalancing the book, he leaves her there to return to his book at his desk.

He kept the cane in his hand, bringing it down across her every time the book fell. She remained completely still even as her neck strained. It annoyed Coriolanus so he took another book from his collection and placed it upon her thin child's book to add weight. She dropped it more easily, but the sting of the cane had her soon learning how to evenly distribute the weight. 

He had three more heavy books stacked on top of her head by the time he was finished reading for the night. 

She blinked tears away but made no sound or change to her straight posture. 

He took his books back from her head and teeth, placing them in their rightful places on the shelf. 

She was smart not to move, and he rewarded her for it by crouching down next to her and wiping her tears away with his handkerchief. She doesn’t look at him, keeping her eyes on the white wall. 

He takes hold of her jaw again to raise her from the floor and leads her to the shower. 

—-----------------

Another long day at the office left Coriolanus wishing for Reaping Day. 

 The sooner it was all over, the better for his nerves. 

Normally, on the way home he would listen to the radio news but after his exhausting day, all he wanted was silence. He knew he would no longer get it at home. The car pulled up to the curb of his building but he couldn't force himself to get out. He watched the lights of the building and the people as they entered and exited. 

He sighed deeply when he saw Mabel's Governess coming from the building. They were supposed to be done hours ago. 

He rushes out of the car as she approaches. 

“Mrs. Fox. What has she done now?”

The older woman jumped at the sound of his voice but regained herself as she turned. 

“Oh nothing, Mr. Snow,” she looked surprised to say it, “I was just visiting a friend in the same building. Mabel finished all her work diligently. We were done within four hours, and I didn't raise the cane once.”

Coriolanus smiled. Was it over? Had he done it? Maybe he was ready to be President. If he had trusted his instincts on the first day Mabel would be eating out of his hand right now. He had done it. He had won. 

“Well, that's good news.” He walks the teacher to her car, feeling generous. 

“I know I could get through to her with a heavy hand. You really must let me use my teaching experience. 

Coriolanus felt too good to correct her so he just bids her goodnight and leaps up the steps into his apartment building. 

He greets people as he makes his way through the building, avoiding conversation where he could. He was glad when the neighbor left the shared space of the elevator, sending the old woman off with a nod. The silence was refreshing after his day of non-stop chatter. He liked that Mabel didn’t speak much, at least not to him. 

The Peacekeepers greeted him as the doors opened before taking his place in the elevator. He doesn’t greet them back, focused only on opening the door and retiring to bed. 

He looks around the room to Grandma’am who sits at the kitchen table reading a gossip magazine and Tigris who is helping Mabel sew a large dress. 

Mabel wore a big, bright smile as she walked over to him and took his coat. It wasn't an unwelcome change but one that put Coriolanus on edge.

“Coryo, how was your day?” Tigris called from her seat on the couch. 

“Fine,” he answers. With Mabel still within reach he places a quick kiss on her cheek. Her eyes widened in surprise before her face scrunched into disgust. 

With his coat hung up, she leaves him by the door, going back to Tigris. The corners of her mouth twisted up into a smile. She bit down upon her lip, trying to stifle a giggle. 

He had an unsettled feeling as he walked from the living room to his bedroom. He expected glum Mabel, defeated Mabel but not gleeful Mabel. 

Opening the door he could see why. 

His books had been thrown to the floor, pages torn out and spines broken. He had nearly a whole wall full and she had taken every single one and torn it apart with her bare hands. Coriolanus had been a boy who had nothing, and even now as a man who had everything, watching his things get destroyed gave him a sick feeling. 

His bag drops by his feet and picks up the book closest to him. Chocolate was squished between the white pages. The book was borrowed from one of his professors. A first edition and highly expensive.  

He was going to kill Mabel. 

He dashes out of the room, and back to the living room where she was expecting him. 

She eyes him on the couch, eagerly. 

Alarm bells ring in his head. She wanted him to react but why? He was too angry to care. 

He had expected her to move so when his fist came down, it came down with more force than he would have normally used, which sent her off the couch and onto the floor. Despite how angry he was, he forced himself to uncurl his hand into an open palm. He straddles her, bringing his hand down across her face as many times as he could before Tigris could hinder his movements. 

“Coriolanus!” he could hear the fear in Tigris's voice and it clicked for him. Mabel had set him a trap and he had fallen straight into it. 

She wanted to expose him to his family. Make a fool out of him. 

He got off her, falling back on his legs, his eyes going to Grandma’am at the table. Her face froze with shock. 

This was too much for even Grandma’am who used to let him steal toys from other children in the playground. 

Mabel manages to get up, grabbing the fabric scissors off the table as she gains distance between them. 

“Touch me again, and I’ll fucking kill you.” She threatens. She holds the scissors in a tight grip towards Coriolanus. Grandma’am cries out in panic but she is largely ignored. 

“Let's just calm down,” Tigris soothes. 

Coriolanus rises from his spot. He could feel his rage ripple through him. 

“Drop the fucking scissors. You won’t use it.” He demands. 

“What to bet?” she spat. The scrapping of the kitchen chair breaks their standoff. 

“I am calling the Peacekeepers” Grandma’am attempts to make a break to the kitchen but she is slow in her old age. 

“Don’t!” Coriolanus growls. He wished Tigris and Grandma’am would melt into the floor so he would deal with this. 

“What a game you played, Coriolanus. So smart, so charming. It must have been exhausting for you” she mocks. “Is that what I am for you? Something you can toy with after playing Capitol pin-up boy all day?”

“I care for you, Mabel.” He admits, his face turns slightly pink from the heat of his embarrassment. He felt foolish to admit such a thing in front of his family. 

She scoffs at him, turning to Tigris. 

“Do you see?” She asks, “Do you see who he is?”

All eyes are on Tigris, who stood in silence giving her answer away. 

He had to get her back under control before she could forever ruin his and Tigris's relationship. 

“You want to go home?” Coriolanus takes a cautious step forward, “I am willing to make a trade.” 

Mabel listens.

“I hear your sister is growing up to be quite pretty. She’s too young to be of any use to me for years, so I’ll take your mother in the meantime.” 

“Coriolanus.” Tigris' voice is hard and cold.

 It felt as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown over him. But he was a Snow. Snow’s are not threatened, they are the threat. Does this District girl think she can make a fool out of him? That she could use his family to stronghold him? 

“I’ll send your mother back once your sister hits the right age.” 

“I’ll kill you.” Mabel threatens but her tone is weak, and her lips quiver. Coriolanus knew he was on the right track.

 “Don’t you understand, Mabel? Your life ended when you were placed on that train. It belongs to me now. I took you as easily as I can take them.”

“Not if you’re dead.” She declared. 

“Kill me Mabel, and it would be as if you slit their throats yourself.” 

She knew it too. That's why she never took a lunge. 

“Drop the scissors,” Coriolanus contends, “And I’ll forget it happened.” 

“Do you see him, Tigris? He’s not the boy you raised, he’s the boy you lost. Do you see?”

Coriolanus wasn’t sure when Tigris had begun crying but she stood now with her hands clapped up to her face and big, fat tears running down her face. 

“Yes,” Tigris sobbed. 

Mabel threw the scissors away from herself and Coriolanus took her arm, leading her to the bedroom before she could cause any more damage to his relationship with his cousin. He locks the door, making sure to double-check it before he hurries back to do damage control. 

Grandma’am and Tigris hadn’t left the living room. He doesn’t think they have moved since his outburst. He was so good at only showing them his best side. He hid the Snow that lurked beneath him all those years at the Academy, even the day he told them he was leaving for Peacekeeper training. All those years of self-restraint blown over by a hot-tempered girl in an afternoon. 

“Tigris,” he begins, reaching out to her but she jerks back away from him. 

“No, Coriolanus. No. I can’t sit by and watch you torment that poor girl.”

She begins to shove her work into her suitcase, throwing the scissors hard into the bottom.  

He felt a switch flip in him. She was going against him? After all he had done for her? Brought their family from ruin all off his own back. Slaved over his grades. Went to school hungry so that she could have more to eat. He got punished for cheating in the hunger games so he could win the Plinth Prize and keep a roof over her head. And now, she was going to take a District's side over him?

“Then don’t watch.” 

Coriolanus turns towards his office, the words of peace Grandma’am spewed behind him got lost in the slammed door. 

He immediately contacted a colleague who owned a collection of high-end resorts and inquired about the best apartment that he had available. His next call was to his driver and then to the Peacekeepers telling them to come inside in the next five minutes. 

When he entered Tigris' room she was already there. She begins the lecture again but this time Coriolanus is unfazed as he grabs one of her many bags and starts to shove whatever his hand touches into it. This stops her. 

The startled sound she made was new to Coriolanus. He always tried to hide his dark side to avoid scaring her, just as she always hid her panic to avoid worrying him. Tonight Mabel brought the emotions to the surface. 

“What are you doing?” she asks meekly. 

“I told you, Tigris. Mind your business or get out.”

She doesn’t stop him as he packs her things. 

“You aren’t serious. This is my home!” 

Coriolanus makes no verbal response causing Tigris to sit on her bed to absorb the blow. 

She had to leave. To save their relationship. Coriolanus planned to do much worse things to Mabel. 

Mabel too, needed to know that his family were not playthings for her. He couldn’t be seen cowering in the shadows any longer. He was the leader of the Snow family, it was time he acted like it. 

He could hear Grandma’am. Her loud, high-pitched voice quivered as it exclaimed to the Peacekeepers the events of the night. Coriolanus raced to stop her.  

“Coriolanus!” she calls as he enters the room. 

He takes her into his arms and speaks softly to the woman, “Go back a bag, Grandma'am. I’ll send the rest after you.” 

Coriolanus held her a bit tighter as she turned pale. Would shifting her from the Snow penthouse kill her? She could have her rose garden anywhere. He will ensure it. The new apartment was closer to the city anyway. This would be better for them all. 

After a moment of silence, Grandma’am stood tall. Her face was blank from emotion as she shook her youngest grandchild from her. 

“You,” she points to a Peacekeeper, “Follow me.” 

Silence overtook the room again as the sound of heavy boots and light heels made their way together. 

“Coriolanus!”His name is yelled down the hallway. “No. No, I won’t go!” 

Tigris’s screaming interrupted Mabel's banging. The noise was too much for Coriolanus, whose temper flared once more. 

“The bag is in the end room.” he seethed to the remaining Peacekeeper who took off at his command. 

Mabel screamed Tigris’s name, thinking her friend was in danger. 

“Shut up!’’ Coriolanus screamed down the hall. 

“I won’t go. I won’t leave Mabel. You can’t do this!” It was hard to hear her over Mabel’s incessant banging. 

“Please, don’t do this, Coryo. This isn’t you.” 

Tigris stills at her own words. The war-torn boy was no longer there. She wasn’t sure if the child she raised was still in there. 

The same blue eyes that used to cry with her out of hunger now glared back at her. His father's eyes. Full of hate. 

The Peacekeeper returns with the bag and gently places a hand on Tigris’s arm to lead her to the door. She goes willingly, too dazed to resist. 

Grandma’am kisses him goodbye, shadowed by the young Peacekeeper holding an impressive amount of bags given the small time frame. 

He is left alone for the first time in the Snow Penthouse. 

Mabel continued pounding the door. She was screaming but her words were muffled and Coriolanus’s ears ringed with his own consequences. 

He had got everything he wanted but it has cost him everything he had. 

The shattering of something caught his attention. He sprints to his locked bedroom door, and bangs back against the door, bringing his face up to the wood so she could hear him. 

“You hear that, Mabel? It's the sound of your only friend leaving.” 

—-------

Reaping day was finally here, and Coriolanus felt the most nervous he had ever been. Even the day of the Plinth Prize, or the first day as a Peacekeeping grunt. This was much worse. This was a situation that he couldn’t crawl his way out from. It depended entirely on Mabel. 

She took all day to prepare to the Capitol’s standards. A team of beauty technicians came around and spent hours waxing, shaping, styling, and dying. 

The Reaping was at noon and the team had been working since eight getting Mabel ready. It was well worth the effort. Her natural features were enhanced, her curls fought into submission, and the treatment on her olive skin left it glowy and smooth.

 He caught her looking at herself on reflective surfaces.

 Her dress was a plain black halter-neck dress that reached her ankles. A large white, satin bow skewed over her hip, tying together in a large bow on the opposite side. It pinned her dress together so there was a large slit that allowed for the viewing of her fine legs. Even in heels, she only reached Coriolanus’ shoulder in height.

She certainly looked the part, but could she act it? Coriolanus could tell she was worried. Her fingers fiddled with her bow, and her attention was hard to keep.

It was a big day for her, and her family. Any trouble and they were to pay the price. 

Dr. Gaul was to arrive soon. The servants stood along the wall, waiting. Mabel sat on the couch while Coriolanus paced in front of her. 

“Remember, always refer to her as Dr. Gaul. Don’t speak unless spoken to, and no backchat. Mabel, no backchat.” 

To Coriolanus’s surprise, she gives him a nod instead of an eye roll.

As if summoned, the doorbell rang and a servant was quick to attend it. 

Her small frame haunted the doorway. No longer in her lab coat, Dr. Gaul wore a maroon pantsuit that widened her broad shoulders. 

“Dr. Gaul.” Coriolanus greets but is ignored as Dr. Gual makes her way to Mabel. 

Dr. Gaul looks Mabel up and down, seeming to approve by the end of the inspection. 

“A pretty bird,” she said to no one in particular. 

Mabel’s lips pressed together. 

“Dr. Gaul, would you like a drink?” Coriolanus tries to take her gaze off Mabel. They were a team today, and Coriolanus would try and protect Mabel as much as he could. 

His tactic worked, turning Dr. Gaul from the young girl to the servant with the tray. 

All too quickly, Dr. Gaul turns her attention back to Mabel, extending her gloved hand. 

“Dr. Volumnia Gaul.” 

Mabel reaches out and accepts the handshake. 

“Dr. Gaul, I have heard lots about you.”

Dr. Gaul's eyes quickly flicker to Coriolanus before resettling on Mabel. 

“Not as much as I have heard about you, I bet.”

The Panem national anthem is heard from the television. It was the perfect opportunity to usher the pair towards the lounge and away from the conversation. 

They stand as the anthem plays. Coriolanus could barely breathe as time was swallowed by the song. It was a minute and 16 seconds of free time and Coriolanus was grateful for every second. 

All too soon Lucy Flickerman appeared on the screen and the pair followed Dr. Gauls' lead to sit. 

Servants hovered over them offering food and drink but Dr. Gaul kept careful watch of Mabel who sat, hidden by Coriolanus. 

“I am surprised at your composure, Mabel. Today must be hard for you.” Dr. Gaul provoked. 

“Not since I turned 18.” Mabel leans closer to Dr. Gaul, and Coriolanus has to refrain from yanking her back. 

“I’s rather hopeful today. Adelaide Bennet owes me money and it’s her last chance to get picked.”

Dr. Gaul smiles back at her. 

“Well let’s remain hopeful then.” Dr. Gaul returns to the television as the presenter makes his introduction. 

Mabel leans back in her seat to watch the ceremony and Coriolanus takes the opportunity to lay an arm across her shoulders to stop her from leaning forward again. 

The tributes were picked and then called on stage to be asked questions. It was a terrible idea. Most just cried or just stood there. Coriolanus made a mental note to scrap it next year. 

Dr. Gaul who normally loved to watch the dismay of tributes, shuffled in her seat towards Mabel. 

Coriolanus motioned for the servants to serve more drinks. Trying to distract any further conversation between the two. 

“Are you enjoying the Capitol, Miss Mabel?”

“Yes. I love this apartment.” Mabel quipped. Coriolanus dug his fingertips into her shoulder. 

Dr Gaul grinned at her backchat. “Well, I suppose you haven’t seen much beyond the bedroom walls.” 

Coriolanus could feel Mabel flinch under him. She had hit a sore spot but Mabel put on a brave face. 

“Is there much more beyond that?” 

Mabel and Coriolanus shared the same philosophy of never letting anyone see your weakness. 

It impressed Dr. Gaul. Coriolanus watched her from the corner of his eye as Dr. Gaul revels in all that is Mabel. 

“Whoa,” Mabel exclaimed, wanting nothing more than to switch topics, “That’s a clear winner if I ever saw one.” 

The man on the screen was large. Coming from District 2 where they trained to be victors. 

“Hmm,” Dr. Gaul agreed. 

“The interviews were a bad idea,” Coriolanus comments, trying to hide Mabel from the attention, “Prescott only has bad ideas. Why do we let him contribute?”

“Because Prescott’s father is a large contributor to the Games. We all make sacrifices for the good of the Games.” Dr. Gaul returns. 

“We also need the presenters to act more lively. Make it interesting.” 

Coriolanus engaged Dr. Gaul with further adjustments to the Reaping as long as he could while Mabel sat silent and beautiful. 

Coriolanus got nervous the closer the Reaping got to District 12. Mabel was already cracking. 

When she saw her home, would she hit a breaking point? What if she saw her family in the crowd? Could she keep her composure? 

District 4’s interviews finished and the camera shifted to District 5. 

“Mr. Snow tells me you used to wash Peacekeeper uniforms.”

Dr. Gaul had no interest in the Games. The focal point of the evening turned to Mabel. She seemed unphased, drinking liberality. 

“I did.”

Mabel takes a sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving the television. 

“I heard you had quite the reputation back in 12.” 

Coriolanus wanted to interject, to somehow change the conversation to himself but he knew it was the wrong move. Dr. Gaul would only push further if he tried to change directions. 

“Yes, I was quite the washer.” 

He was sure that was it. Mabel’s tongue would be in his hands by tomorrow.

To Coriolanus' surprise, Dr. Gaul began to laugh. A deep chuckle that turned her away from Mabel, and hunched her frame into itself. 

Her hand reached back out once she was done and patted Mabel’s knee. Mabel ignored it but her grip around her glass tightened. 

“You must come to see my laboratory one day, Mabel. Put my experiments to shame.”

Coriolanus felt a swirl of pride go through him. Dr. Gaul was jealous of his pet. 

“You’re asking the wrong person, Dr. Gaul,” Mabel says, ducking her knee from the woman’s hand. 

“Coriolanus,” Mabel directs, “What do you think?”

She had passed the ball back to him, unable to front the fire from Dr Gaul. He could kiss her for it. 

“Maybe, if you are well-behaved enough,” he replies. He takes a sip of his own drink, noticing it was untouched. He too, had to seem unbothered. 

It would never happen though. He would create as much distance as he could between Mabel and Dr. Gaul’s laboratory, He hated it himself. Mutated creatures put on display in glass cabinets. 

Sometimes when he was forced to go there the sound of screaming deafened him. Some were clearly animals, but others seemed too human to dismiss. 

Dr. Gaul began to laugh again, this time letting her company see the thin lines as they appeared on her face to accommodate her laughter. She looked odd smiling. Coriolanus preferred her when she was angry. 

“Oh!” Dr. Gaul crooned, “You’re good at games. I wish I knew that before I let this go on. Maybe you could have helped.”

Her attention was back on the television, and her usual dissatisfied expression was back on her face. 

A District 9 boy was called up on stage amongst the silence

. 

“Yes, this year is far too gloomy to inspire Capitol glory,” Mabel gibbed. 

“Glory?” Mabel piqued Dr.Gaul's interest again, “Is that what you think the Games are for? Capitol glory?” 

Her tone conveyed she thought it was the wrong answer. 

“I think glory does more for Capitol order than sending children to fight to the death ever will.”

“And what does it do?” Dr. Gaul pushes. 

“It reminds us of our place.” Mabel was happy to end the conversation there, and Coriolanus tried to assist her by ordering the avoxes to serve lunch. But Dr. Gaul kept pushing.

“Which is?”

“The losers,” Mabel conceded. Her words sent shivers down Coriolanus’ spine. 

“We lost the war, and we’ve been in limbo between death and the afterlife ever since. Our lives became yours when the war ended. The Capitol’s toys. When you glorify the Games, it reminds us of that, more than the actual Games itself.” 

“My! I want you on the team next year” Dr. Gaul declared, “It took Coriolanus the loss of his lovely locks and a summer as a Peacekeeper to even come close to your conclusion.”

Mabel turns to him, now coming to the realization that he was Dr. Gaul’s pet as much as she was his. 

Dr. Gaul quietens as she eats the delicate food, meticulously prepared.

District 11 was halfway through their interviews. Coriolanus wondered if it was too late to drop his sleeping powder into Mabel's drink.  He could convince Dr Gaul that she had too much to drink. It would embarrass him but surely less than what he knew was to come. 

It would only reflect poorly on his training skills, but Mabel could keep her tongue for only a little bit of Coriolanus’s pride. 

It was too late, District 12 spread across the screen, and both women were no longer interested in conversation. 

“Here’s hoping for Adelaide, Miss Mabel.”  Dr. Gaul raised her drink, and Mable nodded back. 

The presenter in 12 is sluggish as he reaches for a card in the cage. Mabel looked in the crowd for her family. 

“Vera Woodsmith.”

“Ah,” Dr. Gaul mocked, “Don’t worry, Mabel. There’s other ways to get Adelaide.”

“Far be it for me to mess with fate.”

“Is that what you call it? Dr. Gaul brings her glass to her lips, but her thin smile hinders her ability to drink. “Coriolanus?” she adds. 

She was not in the habit of calling him by his first name. It shot shivers down him. 

“I don’t believe in fate,” he mutters, “Only power.”

On-screen the presenter tries to interview Vera Woodsmith but she cannot be heard over her own tears. 

The Peacekeepers take her away when she wouldn't stop wailing and the man draws the name of District 12’s male tribute. 

Coriolanus hoped it would be a past lover of Mabel’s. One less person to hold the memory that Coriolanus had fought so hard to have. 

“James Irkle”. 

The camera follows the boy as he makes his way to the stage. Shoulders up and tense, hands clasped together. His shoes were falling apart as he walked. The sole of his boot as it stuck to the hard gravel could be faintly heard over the silent audience. 

He couldn’t have been one of Mabel's past lovers. The boy was too young, barely 12. But she gasped upon his name as it was drawn.

Mabel shoots up before Coriolanus can stop her. 

“Someone you know?” Asks Dr Gaul. 

“He’s my neighbor's child,” Mabel eyes watch as the child makes his way up the stage steps, “He’s just a kid. Surely someone will volunteer.” 

She watches expectantly but no one rises. 

The presenter continued, lowering the mic stand to the boy's height so he could answer questions. 

“You can stop this.” She turns back to Coriolanus who tried his best not to let his panic show. 

“What would you have me do, Mabel? The name has already been called.” 

“Change the game, isn’t that your job? Make a new rule that it’s between 15-22. You’ll get more viewers.” 

“I am only interested in one viewer right now.”

“Coriolanus, please. He is just a boy. A good boy.” 

“Not the first good boy to die.” Dr. Gaul pushes Mabel a step too far. 

“Shut up.” Mabel snapped. Everyone knew it was the wrong move, but in her anger, she failed to catch herself. 

Dr. Gaul rose from her seat, and Coriolanus followed, unsure of what the unpredictable women planned to do. 

Dr. Gaul raised her hands as if she was going to reach out and touch Mabel but her fingers curled inwards. 

“If I could just get my hands on you.” 

“I am afraid you’re at the back of a very long line.” Mabel quips. Coriolanus wanted to reach out and cover her mouth before she could do any more damage. 

“That line keeps you safe.” 

Mabel throws her hands out, laughing humorlessly as she spins.

“Look around and you tell me how safe it has kept me.” 

Dr. Gaul smiles once more, giving Mabel one final look over before turning back to her successor. 

“An hour, Mr. Snow. I would have your bird singing an entirely different tune.”

A wave of shame overtook Coriolanus. He had failed. He was so close only to have Mabel crack at the last second.

Dr. Gaul leaves Mabel, finding a new victim in Coriolanus. 

“It looks like you still have work to do. I’ll leave you to it, Mr. Snow.” 

She pats his sore shoulder as she passes him. A shoe follows her, narrowly missing her shoulder. 

Dr. Gaul looks back in shock. She had never been bitten by an animal before. 

“Child murderer!” Mabel works on undoing her other heel and manages to pull it back to launch it before Coriolanus can restrain her. 

Dr. Gaul watches as Coriolanus wrestles Mabel to the ground, keeping a firm grip on her wrists, pinning them to her chest as he keeps her tightly against his.

A full belly laugh erupts over the sound of Mabel’s screaming. Under Dr. Gaul's stare, he wished for nothing more than to turn to ash. It reminded him so much of his father’s stare. Or at least from what he could remember. It paralyzed him like it did when he was young. 

He still felt frozen as he watched Dr. Gaul head for the door. Even when the servant closed it behind her, it offered no closure for him. 

His rage, however, slowly returned. 

“Get out. All of you get out!” He demands. 

Mabel had stopped screaming and started crying. He doesn’t release her. His fingers froze around her wrists, his shoulders would not unstiffen nor his legs untangle from hers. 

He wasn’t sure if he was holding her for her own comfort or his own. All he knew was that he couldn’t let go. 

Mabel had done far worse than he could have anticipated. She had piqued Dr. Gaul’s interest. If Mabel merely angered her, the course of action would be apparent, and it left her as the property of Coriolanus at the end of the day. But Dr. Gaul’s interest had a possessive grip. How far would she take it? Would Mabel be left one of those creatures trapped in the laboratory? Could he protect her from it? 

For the first time, Coriolanus felt a pang of guilt for having taken Mabel in the first place. 

He had plucked a flower from its stem and now it lay in his hand, slowly dying. 

tag list;

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[donnapalude]

i think a lot of extreme readings on louis's character painting him either as the true abuser or as an helpless victim are failing to capture one of the main points of his story and of the portrayal of vampirism as a gift, which is the well-worn fictional theme of how terrible it can be to obtain everything you ever wanted.

throughout the interview louis is not just trying to exculpate himself or, on the other hand, just trying to come to terms with the abuse received. he, is of course, doing neither and both. he is trying to untangle the particular guilt created when harm descends on yourself and others from a situation that you did not directly create, but from which you partly benefitted. the fact that this guilt gets rielaborated for a long time through a pre-existing tendency for self-deception, does not mean that the harm received was not real or that the deception was only internal. it just signals that in order to move forward, louis needs to come to terms with the specific ways his own issues have informed the events in iwtv.

louis is a character profoundly scored by contrasting feelings of shame. even before meeting lestat, his role in society as an homosexual black man creates a set of conflicting instincts and expectations impossible to fulfill simultaneously. his feminine coding in the story is not arbitrary, but a logical consequence of the exclusion of blackness and homosexuality from the societal construct of masculinity. the standard societal role that men are expected to fulfill is of course one of dominance, assertiveness, and aggressiveness, translated in all spheres of life, be it professional, familial, or sexual. as a man, and in particular the head of his family, louis is supposed to fit into all of these expectations. however, as the rhetoric around the subjugation of black people relies on the (covert or overt) image of them as violent savages that need to be civilised, black-maleness is associated with an over-dramatisation of these characteristics (hypermasculinity), which ideologically requires the submission of black men in order to control the threat they pose. which means, as a black man trying to fit in white society, louis is also expected to react graciously to subduing, suppress anger, and appear non-threating (even sexually). on top of that, homosexuality entails an inherent humiliation into feminisation, as the masculine role of dominance does not exist in a vacuum, but is directly constructed upon the submission of women. and the breaking of gender roles for louis is compounded by some of his own personal traits, which lean towards nurturing, sensitivity and passivity. a passivity that, incidentally, is also informed by the tiredeness descending from his own parentified role in the family and by the many different necessities pulling him at the same time.

the picture painted here is extremely complicated. louis is not simply a man failing in his gender role. he lives in a society that assigns to him both masculine and feminine traits and punishes him when he cannot achieve them, while at the same time shaming him when he displays them. he feels shame over his sexual and violent urges, but also inadequate when he does not perform dominance. he feels ashamed of his desire for passivity and motherhood, but also inadequate when he cannot control his aversion to actual subjugation. he wants all of it: he wants to be powerful, respected, and strong, but he also wants to care and be cared for, to relax into the power of someone else, and to be able to avoid the responsibility of always being the one making decisions. he wants, in other words, to be a full human being. but the fragmentation of his identity in society will not allow it. and the cost of failing to maintain this delicate balance is not just societal reproach, there is a direct threat of violence hanging over him. this creates a paralysis in decision-making and identity-building that heavily colors louis's choices throughout his life.

part of how he deals with this in order to function, is by creating fictional roles for himself to inhabit and denying the aspects of himself he dislikes by projecting them on others. in s1, for instance, there is something to be said about louis taking all the masculine traits he feels ashamed of (the bloodlust, the desire for violence, the desire for (gay) sex) and assigning them to lestat, as well as blaming their growth in him to lestat's influence and vampirism. which is not an incorrect reading of the situation. the predatory drive he sees in lestat is not only an externalisation of his own issues. he is actually being hunted. and then of course he is actually being abused. moreover, vampirism does enhance his violent instincts. but all of this is also not a causal coincidence between reality and his own illusions. part of the reason louis loves lestat and is attracted to vampirism (because of him and through him), is precisely that they represent unashamed possession of what he hates in himself. he admires lestat for this and he also feels relief over his presence, as it enables him to experience those traits vicariously with reduced self-blaming by directing any condemnation externally. moreover, the stalking and power-imbalance and the forced turning create a fracture in his instincts. they provide him with seduction and power he did desire and they do that by permitting him to claim a passive role in them, so that he can avoid culpability. this is extremely confusing, as i don't think he is ever able to fully reconcile how much of what happened he wanted to happen.

from an external point of view, the audience can at least see he did not really want to be subjected to violence and he perceives a real danger of it from lestat, which then gets realised. as much as the masculine, but respectful business-owner was a persona he assumed to navigate that threat in society, the adaptable housewife is also a persona he assumes to navigate that threat with lestat. and these are unsparing calculations made to physically avoid harm by performing the characteristics better suited for it in any given moment. but the specific choices made to obtain this result are clearly tied to an exaggereted exploration of feminine and masculine roles that he would not have been able to fully inhabit without the excuse of a threat, due to the mentioned combination of shame and perceived deficiency. as shame begets pride, however, the assumption of these roles is also meant to claw back some margin of agency through the construction of a self-image that is not tied to victimhood. in other words, creating for himself the belief that through this exaggerations he is just voluntarily expressing his true self and not only reacting to the constrictions of external circumtances, allows him to bear his reality by believing it was born at least partly out of his own choices and that it helped him obtain at least some favourable outcomes.

there is a fascinating tension in him, in both wanting to deny his culpability and free-will in events in order to absolve himself and at the same time not feeling worthy of this absolution and perceiving its acceptance as a further sin. moreover, there is attraction towards powerlessness as a state devoid of the burden of decision-making, but also a rejection of it due to the guilt generated by feeling co-responsible in his own victimisation because of his passivity.

in a healthy, safe environment all of this could be reconciled. however, "marrying" lestat and becoming a vampire create an interesting conundrum, whereby he receives solutions that are technically able to magically fulfill all of his most secret, shameful, and contradictory desires (bloodlust, hunger, power, violence, sex, motherhood, submissivness), but through circumstances where his consent is severely impaired and with consequences that are harmful to both himself and others. so that he finds himself unable to fully forgive himself (he did want these things to happen, although not this way, and he does enjoy some aspects of them), but also unable to escape the situation. he occupies a state of victimhood that he perceives of his own making, which further impairs him from rejecting it, as staying in it is both denial and penance.

the ending of season 2 being centred on him accepting vampirism as a gift is a full circle. the liberation achieved after the interview is not, i think, a simple recognition that there was nothing he could have done to prevent events and that he deserves to live a full life as a consequence. there are many possible nuances to this and the situation with armand deserves a whole different conversation, but on a very basic level i think what matters most is the acceptance that he will never know, exactly, what alternative course of action could have been taken. he knows what he did not do: he did not have an active role in paul's suicide, his estrangement with his family, and claudia's murder. but his shame and tendency to self-sacrifice have created a situation of immobility that impedes him from taking full stock of the part his wants have played in events. and to fully rielaborate his role as a victim he will need, i think, more reflection on that. but in the meantime, what is sure is that protracting the same tendency by denying himself any enjoyment of his vampire life and placing all the blame for his turning and their relationship on lestat (though he is to blame for many many things), would just constitute a further attempt to avoid guilt by negating that those wants ever existed at all. the way forward is only one. to accept everything he wants and be purposeful with it now. to refuse the gift does not eliminate the terrible things that came with it, it just ignores them. maybe, by honoring it, he can honor them too. and try to avoid them from happening again.

[oplishin]

I really love the way RF Kuang wrote Rin's relationship to her culture because it's fucking terrible and cruel.

Rin is the last Speerly, and that puts a soul-crushing, unbelievably unfair amount of responsibility on her. She has to be the one to preserve her culture because there is literally no one else. After her, her people will be dead, and they'll be unable to represent or speak for themselves. All that will exist of Speer is other people's interpretations of it, of what they want Speer to be, how they want it to serve their own cultural narrative.

But, god, how could she possibly represent her people? She has no relationship to her culture, any representation she gives it is inherently from an outside, colonized view. Her culture was robbed from her, but she's still burdened with the responsibility of preserving it. She's woefully inadequate for the job, and she knows it. She's literally, physically unable to continue her people because of a choice she made before she knew she was the last of anything. But, even if she had known, it should've NEVER been her responsibility to continue anything, to boil herself down to a reproductive device for a people she owes nothing and everything to.

Rin doesn't dwell on this very often because, oh my god, there's a war happening, and all her friends are dying, and she'll die too if she doesn't keep going, and these lofty ideas of culture and colonialism are for people who don't have to live in a messy, war-torn reality, people have time to think about anything. R F Kuang does a great job of using Rin as an unreliable narrator here. It's clear that she's fucked up about this, but that she will not allow herself to think about it. She's One person, situated and trapped in her One life. She can't be expected to speak for a whole people. So, she pushes her culture aside. She has to live with the fact that this is it, she's the end.

Then, she dies, and Speer dies, and nothing is fair.

[posletsvet]

Thoughts on Geto Suguru's Psychology Pre-Defection

There's something that I've been meaning to talk about for a while now, and that is Geto's apparent tendency to conceal his negative impulses that allows for, in my view, faulty interpretations stating that he was faking his righteous beliefs all along just because assuming high moral ground gave him a sense of superiority and fed his ego. Meanwhile I would argue that, on contrary, this habit is more indicative of Geto's insecurities and heightened sense of self-awareness.

My thoughts on this underneath the cut, but beware: it's going to be long!

To begin with, I think there are two major factors playing into the misconception that I mentioned. The first one boils down to prejudice forcing people to look upon younger Geto through the lense of a person he would go on to become. The kind of cautious logic that says that a deeply empathetic, caring highschooler couldn't have turned into a murderous cult leader preaching the merits of genocide, and thus seeks ways to dehumanize him from the very beginning (because that's a terrible concept to wrap your mind around, I agree). And the second factor being... well, that Suguru's behaviour really does come off as fake at times.

We experience 'negative' emotions as naturally as 'positive' ones, and despite some of them are conventionally accepted as 'good' whereas others are painted as 'bad', no emotion is inherently harmful or invalid; they all are a part of what makes us human. While it's undoubtedly a chilly and ominous concept for someone to be completely devoid of any positive traits, just as unnatural it is to display positive responses only. Perfection is stored away at museums, no living breathing human being can go through their life without being affected by negative impulses or thinking. But more often than not negative emotions are condemned and stigmatized (in the end, we still refer to them as 'negative'), and self-consciousness can make one ashamed or guilty of experiencing them. The end result of this would be trying to hide your feelings under one more appealing appearance, creating a warp between what's intuitive and what's manifest, an inadequate emotional response.

Gojo (at least in his teenage years) is widely outspoken and doesn't hesitate to outwardly express himself, whether verbally or via body language. It probably takes root in Gojo's upbringing: he was spoilt rotten, revered for being born with a silver spoon in his mouth, his every whim indulged and tended to. There simply wasn't any need for him to try and make a good impression by faking docility and emotions that are more pleasant and easier to digest. Gojo may be boisterous and bratty and obnoxious, but he isn't trying to 'trick' anyone into thinking he's better than he really is, and this paints a more sincere, believable picture to the audience.

On the other hand, Geto's emotions, partly due to his more solemn demeanour, are often toned down or consciously concealed. For instance, when Riko manages to strike a nerve in him, his response is to immediately plaster on mawkish 'customer service' smile to not give away his annoyance. This scene is especially interesting to me because of how Amanai's reaction gives voice to the audience's concerns. Referring to Suguru, she says, 'You look like a liar!' -- and by doing so calls him out on his tendency to mask negative emotions. Intuitively, she can still read his feelings in his body language, in the delay in his expression rearranging itself into a smile, and so can the viewer. We know he's annoyed, and his words about having no intention to harm Riko don't exactly align with how he behaves (even if in a playful manner) a moment after saying them. It creates a tangible contradiction between what he says his intentions are and what his actions speak of, between the appearances and what lies behind them. And this contradiction raises suspicion, in a way that if somebody's making an effort to hide something, then there must be something to hide.

In retrospect this doubt might seem reinforced and justified. I see how it's easy to fall into thinking that Geto, having become a criminal who's done unspeakably cruel things and who backs up his delusional ideals with bigoted reasoning, should've been hiding darker parts of himself behind all those fake smiles and talks about righteousness. But pinning the blame on Geto alone by claiming that he had violent tendencies to begin with is essentially disregarding systematic issues that the story strives so much to convey to the audience. Holding innate individual qualities accountable for the catastrophe is basically the sort of thinking that the higher-ups display, whose main strategy for dealing with problems is public scapegoating and disposing of every single threat to the current order by giving out one death sentence after the other. I don't think we as the viewers are supposed to reach the conclusion that Suguru is at fault for what happened, which is not to say he's faultless, nonetheless the narrative goes to great lengths to make us sympathize with him, not the other way around.

Now, there's really a handful of ways in which Geto's character seems to contradict himself. He shares overspilling empathy for the people around him, that is his character's core trait, but that very empathy spells out his downfall when it degrades into resentment and hate. He displays a largely considerate and sympathetic demeanour, but he's first introduced to the audience as someone who backhandedly bad-mouths Utahime for being weak. He's one half of the strongest duo, but whereas Gojo is a natural-born genius, Geto evidently struggles with his powers. His entire career as a curse user is based on the mentality which justifies the means to an end, but reaching the end goal is impossible for him as he is, Geto himself as much as admits to it during his last conversation with Satoru. He sets on his wild-goose chase for power, but ends up stagnating to the point where his use of Curse Manipulation in the Hidden Inventory Arc is much more inventive and creative than in Jujutsu Kaisen 0. The list goes on, but you got the gist.

To live for the purpose of being yourself. And for that goal, Geto could only continue to pursue his twisted dream, drowning himself in a curse that lies in the gap between ideal and reality.

I believe this to be such a poignant phrase when it comes to Geto's characterization because of how well, in my view, it encapsulates the conflict of his character -- or, if you will, the contradiction of it. It succinctly expresses his outlook on things, where he views the world how it's ideally supposed to be rather than how it realistically is. I've actually somewhat already elaborated on this in my very first rambling on here:

To me, Geto seems to be a type of person who needs something to guide him, some clear-cut ideal to make it possible for him to navigate through his life. He is pedantic in that sense: the sharp outlines of his views define his surroundings, the very way he looks at things and perceives them. He needs everything to fall precisely in line with his own set of ideals, which seems to be quite verified and well-adjusted within his mind, like a strict and refined concept he constructed for himself, like a routine he's used to following out of pure principal. His own belief system being so defined, it's that which makes him indulge in excessive discourse on the subject of morality and responsibility, like he's patiently laying out the basics in front of a disobedient child to help them wrap their mind around some fundamental truth that is so obvious and natural for him.

In a way, Geto concealing his negative emotions is not a false front put up against scrutinizing looks that could reveal his 'true nature'. Quite the opposite, I think it speaks more of his well-meaning intentions. When trying to change the way things are, start at yourself, and I guess this is the principle Geto's trying to apply here. By following through his own ideal, Geto does his best to be an upright person he believes himself obliged to be, whether that means forcing himself to absorb curses or putting on a customary smile. It might be juvenile and wishful thinking on his part, probably akin to 'fake it till you make it', but it's important to keep in mind that at that time he was still but a teenager. Moreover, he was put on par with somebody as praised within jujutsu society as Gojo, he must've felt on top of the world, too entranced by their warm spring of youth to care too much about the occasional slips. With Satoru by his side, I imagine Geto could afford to cut some slack and participate in the mischief. Later we see post-defection Geto drop his frivolous facade only when he's entirely alone -- another hint at how Gojo was really the only person Suguru allowed himself to confide in, that is untill the SPVI put uncrossable distance between them.

While I do say that Geto's intentions are well-meaning, the way he positions himself actually reveals some quite problematic aspects of his mindset. Namely, his attitude towards non-sorcerers, whom he clearly sets into a different category from himself and his fellow sorcerers. Regular people lack crucial understanding, they are weak because they are helpless, therefore they have to be shielded from the source of harm. This is a largely patronizing concept of empathy, since it's based on the notion that the 'weak' are inherently inferior to Geto himself and others involved in jujutsu society. It's interesting how it's reflected in Geto's insistence on the necessity of curtains. The use of curtains furthers the extent of non-sorcerers' ignorance, they never learn how to stay out of harm's way as they are deprived even of as much as their perception of the existing danger. It reminds me of how a parent would brush a child's concerns aside because they're too young and naive and do not need to be aware of adult life's hardships. Just like Geto's paternalistic outlook, it does not come from malice or negligence, it's just an attempt to keep someone less experienced and skilled safe. Nonetheless it's harmful as it puts that person in a position which denies them agency.

In my view, Suguru's fake smiles are an extension of his acute sense of responsibility. In front of those over whom he assumes responsibility, he presents himself as calm, collected and dependable as if it's supposed to reassure them. It's his job to protect them and make them feel safe, so there's no need showing them his own struggle. Even if such thinking is condescending, it's not in any way malicious. Geto's entire character arc would be simply non-existent if he wasn't completely genuine in his sentiments.

So why do I talk about Geto's insecurities when first introducing the topic of this post? Well, I'm about to take a deep dive into the field of speculation and theories and finally get to the point why I'm writing all this in the first place (took me long enough, lmao). There's also a reason why I brought up Gojo's upbringing when talking about his personality and how it contrasts Geto's. You see, like Satoru's way of dealing with his emotions can be linked to his childhood experience, Suguru's behaviour might also give us some clues about the circumstances he grew up in.

The more I look into it, the more convinced I become that Geto was in one way or another exposed to emotional trauma in his childhood. Remember when I mentioned inadequate emotional responses? While being one, smiling in reaction to stress may act as a defense mechanism of sorts, shielding the person from the chronic nature of the unpleasant experience. It also may serve as a way to avoid alienation by others who are not privy to the source of your distress or are not comfortable with it. Affiliative smiles are motivated by social factors, it's a tool used to create and maintain social connections. Human beings are hardwired to connect with others, feeling alienated by the people around us causes us great pain.

The thing us, we must assume that Geto is relatively new to the jujutsu world in the flashback arc. Given his non-sorcerer background, chances are he was the only one in his immediate surroundings with the ability to see and exterminate curses. There couldn't have been a way for him to confide in someone with his concerns and fears born from interacting with something only he could see. So I assume that eventually that resulted in Suguru developing an unhealthy habit of masking his emotions before the ones he cared about. And as over time he grew more aware of his abilities and got a grasp on how his CT works, I imagine Geto committed to exorcising curses in order to protect ordinary people from them -- all by himself. This, in turn, must have solidified that conception in Suguru's head which ultimately othered him from the people around him and put them in a position inferior to him since they were the ones depending on him and his powers.

As Geto should've mostly kept to himself, I also see how he might have grown heavily reliant on his analytical mind. Overthinking is a habit developed early on in life as a way to wade through feeling uncertain or unsafe. It's an attempt to make sense of confusing reality by applying an analytical lense to it and compartmentalizing it into neat, easily understandable categories. And also a way to regain sense of self when you find yourself in a situation you otherwhise have little to no control over. And while over-analyzing can create a sense of security, it may also interfere with a person's emotional responses. I guess it's something that could be applied to Geto, too, because for such a self-reflective character he always struck me as someone with oddly little regard of his own feelings.

As a side note, I like how Geto's tendency to over-analyze things is shown in that one scene when Yaga's briefing him and Gojo on the upcoming mission. Suguru's clearly presented as someone who's very mindful of how the world around him works. Understanding helps him assign meaning to different aspects of life, and he relies upon it heavily. Also, as someone who's been uprooted from his former society and introduced instead to an entirely different world, I guess it's important for Geto to fit in. Him being highly knowledgeable about such essential details is, in my view, indicative of such effort on his part. Whereas Satoru simply does not care about such details, the reality makes sense to him as it is as he was born perfectly fit into it.

Last but not least, Geto's infamously guilty of a dichotomous, or black-and-white, outlook on things. This is the all-or-nothing mentality that leaves little to no room for nuance and does not allow two opposite statements to be true at once. It's a common cognitive distortion that manifests immature thought; a rigid mindset more often than not bordering on extreme. Meanwhile the very foundation of Geto's downfall is the inability to adapt to the complicated reality which doesn't align perfectly with his idealistic vision. He ultimately failed to wrap his head around the world with grey areas, his black-and-white thinking thinking prevented him from doing so.

The development of such maladaptive personality traits has been repeatedly linked to the effects of childhood trauma. If the environment which a person grew up in was traumatic and chaotic, black-and-white thinking might have given them a sense of control through rationalization. That's why a mentality which doesn't allow for nuance and doesn't reflect life in its intricate complexity comes off as childishly simplistic. Seeing the world in all-or-nothing terms in some way means reverting to your inner child. And this is actually something that Shoko accuses Geto of during their brief conversation in Shinjuku. In his thinking Geto doesn't grow past his traumatic experience, whether it was his parents actively abusing his abilities for their own gain or the ache of being alienated at such an early age.

If the nature of Geto's relationship with his parents was abusive, it would also explain his altruism. Suguru goes out of his way to express his concern for well-being of those around him, and he does genuinely care, but all the while it could be a way for him to tend to his own unsatisfied needs by helping others. He seems to be highly attuned to others through his empathy, but also somewhat has trouble advocating for himself, resulting in harmful patterns of self-sacrifice or self-neglect.

It's true, there is a lot of contradictions housed within Geto's character, which are evident in his mindset and his actions. But I don't believe this to be due to sloppy writing, on contrary -- it's the kind of writing that speaks through detail and nuance and invites the reader to ponder why is this or that character the way they are.

[acaptainbyanyothername]

It is so important the Weepe and Saskia episode came directly after the Jonas and Phineas episode, because it really drove home how similar these dynamics are and where they fundamentally diverge.

First of all, Saskia and Jonas got their origins in very similar ways. According to Third Person’s Midst Messages series, beta Phineas (then called “Puck”) was originally a much more self-assured knight-in-shining-armor type, and Weepe was a showbiz guy that actually performed on stage and could command a crowd. Later, when fleshing out the story and characters further, Third Person essentially shaved those parts off of them to make the characters of Jonas Spahr and Saskia del Norma.

On a meta level then— of COURSE Phineas and Weepe are so obsessed with Jonas and Saskia! They are literally looking at their better half, the part of them that was stripped away to increase their flaws. Out of meta and in the context of the story, Phineas and Weepe both put Jonas and Saskia on pedestals. They then deal with these pedestals in interesting and horrific ways.

The pedestals exist because Jonas and Saskia saved them in some regard—Jonas by pulling Phineas out of the Delta, and Saskia through her kindness to Weepe when he came to Midst. This results in Phineas and Weepe primarily seeing Jonas and Saskia as the symbols they represent: heroic Prime Consector and the kind, too pure for this world pillar of the community respectively. These pedestals superimpose a fundamental power imbalance in the dynamics: Phineas feeling inadequate compared to Jonas’ Valor and charm, and Weepe thinking his awfulness will eventually twist Saskia away from him, Then, all of the problems with these relationships come to a tumultuous head when the moon fell on Midst, and it’s interesting to note that both Weepe and Phineas both partially did the terrible things they did to save face for themselves to their counterpart: Weepe specifically wanted to not be there or mentioned during the Cabaret bust, and Phineas went so violent over Sherman in an act of desperation partially to prove to Spahr he was worth something. Both of these attempts end up failing and fracturing their relationships, and Weepe abandons and Phineas is abandoned. These relationships then do not see each other until close to the end of season 3.

One of the major themes of Midst is change and metamorphosis, both on a physical and a mental level. All of the four characters go through a high level of change during their time apart, but Saskia and Weepe’s change is purely physical, while Phineas and Jonas’ is purely mental (save some beard shenanigans). Weepe’s entire body transforms into the clear skeleton man we know and love, and Saskia literally gains another body from the tearror. However, even after these drastic physical alterations, they remain fundamentally the same person. Saskia is still kind and community-focused, and Weepe is still the same diabolical bastard. Conversely, Jonas and Phineas had their worldviews so rocked (Jonas a little slower than Phineas, but Phineas got to smoke a moth about it) they individually decided to renounce the cult and value system that provided structure to their lives. They both interact with others and the world around them differently because of the mental changes they have undergone (seen in Phineas attempting to take greater responsibility for his actions and make choices for himself instead of just following orders, and Jonas learning to take agency and grow a backbone).

This is why Jonas and Phineas manage to reconcile and Saskia and Weepe don’t. For as different as their reunion scenes are, there’s a striking commonality: Saskia and Phineas both express the sentiment “I’m angry at you and I don’t know if I can forgive you” and Weepe and Jonas both respond with “Good, you should be.” It’s why they say those things that matters though. Jonas and Phineas have internally changed since their last meeting. Saskia and Weepe have not. Jonas has reached a point where he’s no longer asking anything of Phineas or placing undue pressure on him, and so he accepts Phineas’ negative emotions and imperfections for the first time in their relationship. Weepe just accepts no forgiveness because he thinks he deserves it, because he’s the same terrible person he’s always been and internal change is impossible. Or so he thinks, at least. Phineas changed and Jonas changed to match him. Saskia and Weepe were incompatible with their polar opposite values, and stayed that way permanently. To tie it back to the idea of pedestals, Jonas happily stepped off the pedestal he was on and Phineas let him—they’re both at zero. Weepe couldn’t take Saskia off her pedestal or view himself as anything less than lower than her, to the detrimental point of denying himself the chance to grow from his mistakes.

These relationships could have easily ended up very differently. In an alternate version of Midst, Jonas and Phineas could have decided to kill each other and Saskia and Weepe could have survived and attempted to try again with each other. It end up happening the way it did because Phineas and Weepe had very different facilitators of their respective metamorphosis. Phineas was guided by the Mothers Merciful to come to a new self-understanding. Weepe had Imelda fucking Goldfinch. Change doesn’t happen in an isolated chamber, it’s influenced by the people around us. Phineas was guided into change. Weepe was tortured into it. If Phineas was not treated with the kindness he was, or Weepe was treated with a little more, there’s a chance the story could have unraveled very differently.

In conclusion (this post ran away from me a bit haha) the codependent relationships of Phineas and Jonas, and Weepe and Saskia heavily parallel each other but reach different conclusions in the key places they diverge, i.e. the internal versus external change the characters went through and the type of support they received. These relationships are mirrors of each other—I think Saskia and Weepe represent the worst possible road it could have went down and Jonas and Phineas represent the best, and the key was a successful metamorphosis and accepting the other as a person as they are, off a pedestal.

They all love each other to a frankly obsessive degree. Sometimes love isn’t enough though. Sometimes it’s just circumstance and a willingness to change that ends up being the determining factor.

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

DROP YOUR DX FOR VOX !!!!! Please and thank you.

I would like to preface all my posts on headcanons related to psychology and mental illness with a disclaimer: diagnosing mental conditions, especially personality disorders, can be extremely challenging. It's a complicated process that relies heavily on a psychologist's interpretation of facts, making it susceptible to biases. Personality disorders cannot be diagnosed based on surface-level observations and are not just labels that we can assign to people like in the case of MBTI. Additionally, I am not a clinician with any expertise in diagnosing people. Therefore, the following post should not be taken as a reliable professional opinion. It's simply my interpretation of the internal mechanisms that may be responsible for the behavior of certain characters in my fan fiction. Furthermore, I want to make it clear that I have no intention of stigmatizing people with personality disorders by associating them with villains. A personality disorder does not determine someone's character or make them a bad person. Some characters may be evil because of the choices they make, not as a result of their mental conditions.

(I've already posted some stuff here so I'm not going to repeat myself.)

Okay, so, Vox has Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD). It's crucial to distinguish this from "common narcissism" (people often described as "narcissists" by others just because they are egotist assholes; kinda ableist, you shouldn't do it because it's extremely stigmatizing towards people suffering with actual NPD) . While those individuals typically function well, those with NPD exhibit all the traits – grandiosity, egocentrism, attention-seeking, intense power fantasies – but as it's a disorder, these traits lead to inflexible and maladaptive patterns of behavior and cognition.

NPD has its roots in intense feelings of shame, low self-compassion, and self-loathing. In my interpretation, Vox has always felt inadequate. His father inherited an enormous amount of money, establishing a media conglomerate in the 20's. Vox's mother, captivated by the world of movies, used them to escape her reality as a trophy wife. Despite her dreams of becoming an actress, Vox's father, possessive and protective, prevented her entry into the entertainment industry. As a compromise, he made their son a child actor, with the condition that it would be temporary. When Vox grew older, he was expected to transition to learning business and other skills, ultimately to take over the family's empire.

So, Vox was never enough for either of his parents. His father thought of him as annoying and unserious due to his talkativeness and exaggerated behaviors, attributing it to growing up surrounded by actors. As for his mother... Vox turned out to be a terrible actor, struggling to convey emotions that weren't bombastic and over-the-top. Being a teenager is humiliating enough, but imagine being a teenager bad at something and forced to do it for a worldwide audience, when the whole production crew is annoyed with you. Fortunately, he grew up to be devilishly handsome (not to be a simp, I just believe someone must be handsome to endure the ethereal punishment of having their face swapped for a TV screen) and entertaining, leading them to make him a TV host and media personality.

Anyway, NPD is all about creating a perfect self and projecting it to the world when you're deeply ashamed of your true self. It means that, no matter what you're doing, you're constantly concerned about how it looks to other people. You constantly play an exhausting game, trying to win gold stars of social admiration for every-fucking-thing, guided by superficial ideals of wealth, perfection, beauty, and, above all, power. One reason Alastor's existence bothers Vox so much is the fact that he cannot comprehend the idea of someone choosing radio over his "objectively better and correct" medium. Vox lacks the ability to understand nuanced sentiments, which ironically makes him thrive in Hell. In this anarchocapitalist, lawless society, survival of the fittest prevails, and this is a game he excels at playing.

Generally, the best approach for individuals with NPD is to pull them out of delusional thinking by confronting their beliefs about the world and themselves with reality (it should be performed by qualified therapist, especially when someone hasn't completed any kind of therapeutic process yet). However, in Hell, Vox's behavior was no longer in violation of social norms; on the contrary, it was highly rewarded. Consequently, he completely lost his shit, became unhinged, and began acting on all his previously suppressed urges. He finally fulfilled all narcissistic power fantasies and became (almost) untouchable. Now, he's ready to kill anyone who questions him, seeing it as threatening to his fragile image of the perfect self.

He exhibits strong bipolar tendencies. Most of the time, he's power-tripping in a semi-maniacal state. Periodically, he undergoes deep, depressive episodes, locking himself up in his apartment and avoiding interaction.

Constantly guarding this fragile image of the perfect self that he built is exhausting. The bigger this image gets, the more fragile it becomes, like a house of cards. And guarding it becomes more and more exhausting. But there's nothing scarier than the idea of the facade falling apart and people seeing him as he is: imperfect and vulnerable, damaged and ashamed, rotten and evil. Deep down, he knows he's unlovable, and it hurts. He knows that true love exists; he craves this ultimate form of admiration and devotion, but it requires vulnerability and honesty, which he's not capable of. He's only vulnerable with Valentino, and only occasionally when he's intoxicated or when Val fucks every last thought out of his body. He's very much a controlling top insecure about his masculinity, so the latter happens rarely.

Also, drugs. Oh, do this man enjoy some coke. Other drugs and booze, not so much; they make him feel less in control. But getting coked up, going out, causing a scene, killing some poor souls, and relishing this feeling of being completely untouchable? Feels so good.

When it comes to Alastor, he hates him because he's jealous. Despite all his efforts—building a perfect persona, a perfect company, perfect entertainment—this stinky, outdated, and boring radio demon gets so much attention and admiration that should be his. Moreover, he feels that Alastor can see right through his bullshit. He's so paranoid about it that he's almost certain Alastor knows about his childhood traumas, about his death, about all his truths, and could one day broadcast it for all people of Hell to hear. So, he needs him dead.

Note: these headcanons (especially Vox's past) are very important part of my fanfiction. Please feel free to use them in your fics but I'll appreciate if you tag me 🩷

Velvette hc | Valentino hc | Vees + Angel hc | VoxVal hc

[overload-explode]

Naruto Founder's s/o who Attempted S*icide

T/W: Hinted non-explicit suicide attempt, references to depression

A/N: I'm not in a good space so here is some angst to vent! These men were born and raised during war and political instability, so their understanding of mental health is terrible. GN! reader

Hashirama:

You were the light of his life always laughing and smiling

Whenever he was stressed with Hokage duties he took refuge in you

He never sensed anything was wrong until you tried to kill yourself

He's the one that found you and healed you

The village was supposed to be a safe place for his loved ones yet you were not safe in the village he built

He blames himself. He feels like your happiness, and everyone in his village is his responsibility. He's your partner and your Hokage

Away from you, he starts drinking and gambling a lot to forget what happened and distract himself

Tobirama has to eventually find him and sober him up

His brother informs him that he needs to stop being self-destructive and blaming himself for what happened

Bags are now permanently under his eyes. He clings to you in sleep now, not out of love, but because he's terrified of losing you like he has lost so many

He's lost brothers, family and friends to war. To protect his loved ones was one of the reasons for creating the village But he can't protect you from yourself

He is an amazing healer so there are no physical scars on you. However, every time he sees you, he sees those injuries on you- he is forever scared mentally

He loves you and he drains himself trying to keep you happy

He doesn't show you he is struggling at all, he is scared his depression will cause you to spiral downward and attempt to take your life again

So he puts on a happy, joyous and carefree mask. Now he is performing at home as well as performing as Hokage and clan head

He secretly asks Tobirama to watch you when he is unable to. Tobirama starts to dislike you. You burden his brother, himself and the village. To him you are a liability, a weakness of his brother and a danger to the village. He would never hurt anyone his brother loves but he advises Hashirama to break up with you and tries to convince you to leave Hashirama, and preferably the village

Tobirama

He's angry and he's disappointed but mostly at himself because he feels so powerless

Despite being an amazing tactician, he didn't predict and prevent this. He feels so inadequate and starts doubting himself

Ever the logical man, he sees there's a problem and he wants to fix it. And nothing will get in the way, not even you

However, emotions do not follow logical thought, and you cannot apply cold logic to something as complicated as mental health

To you, he visibly becomes colder and more distant however he is trying to do the opposite. He expresses his love through acts of service but he is so emotionally incompetent it comes off as him being controlling, which he is but he wants to help you. He just has no idea how

He never opens up about his mental health. The trauma of being a child soldier, having an abusive father, trying to protect his brothers from abuse, losing his brothers, his alienation from being albino and autistic (my headcanon), PTSD, his strained relationship with his brother…

In his mind, as long as you can do your job as a shinobi, housewife, or merchant… and contribute to your village and/or clan, you are fine. Happiness and personal fulfilment come from knowing your place and fulfilling you are not contributing then that is a problem. If you're not doing your duty then that is a problem that needs to be fixed

He views people like cogs in a machine, if you are not doing your job then that is a problem. If you are doing your job, then there is no problem

He'll make sure you are physically well and then try to get you back to work because then that means everything is fixed

He will never talk about it, he wants to forget it, ignore it suppress it- like all his other emotions

But secretly, when he can, he'll create a shadow clone to follow you around to make sure you're safe

He will also put a seal on you that allows him to teleport to you if he senses that you're in danger. If you refuse he'll do it anyway without your permission because it's the smart thing to do and he cares about you. Your safety is more important to him than you liking him

At night when he comes back late and you are fast asleep, he'll hold you and silently cry a bit because he doesn't want to lose you.

You will never find out, he wants to be strong for both of you. In his mind no emotions = strong

In his mind, you have too many emotions, so he needs to show even fewer emotions to avoid triggering you. This is very unhealthy for everyone

After his brother advises him, he tries to be more outwardly affectionate. Even though he doesn't understand the need of pointing out the obvious, he compliments you more and kisses you on the forehead before going to work every day. Just know that he loves you

Madara

Hashirama is the one to tell Madara about your attempt. He was the medic-nin that saved you and, mainly, because everyone else is too scared of Madara to tell him

Madara is angry and scared. He is one of the most powerful shinobi to have ever existed. He has one of the most powerful Kekkei Genkai, yet he couldn't protect you. He can't protect you from yourself

The way he deals with his feelings of powerlessness is to label you unworthy

If you let your thoughts almost kill you- then you are truly weak. He grew up in a war zone where everyone was trying to kill him and he's perfectly fine! (He's not)

While you recover, he'll check up on you and make sure you're healing but he won't talk about what happened at all. Once you physically recover from your attempt, he'll break up with you

He's the clan head and his future spouse would become the clan matriarch (or the gender-neutral equivalent), taking on a lot of roles and responsibilities. Madara can't have someone he views as weak representing the Uchiha, it would make the Uchiha seem vulnerable and his job is ultimately to protect the clan. Madara also worries that the stress from the job will worsen you're mental health

After the break up he'll disappear for your life completely. If you try to visit him he will never be in. He won't be in his office if you're there- you won't even see him out in the street. It will be like you were never together

Secretly, he will start stalking you because he's worried but has no idea how to help you

He stops eating or sleeping regularly because he's too worried. Also, you were the one to remind him to eat and drink. His own physical and mental health declines

Hashirama becomes increasingly worried about his friend and tries to convince Madara to talk to you

Madara has already lost Izuna and the rest of his family, he can't lose you too. He knocks on your door with some food hoping you'll start the conversation

If you like my work, please consider supporting me: ☕

[boinkingbattlemechs]

Rifleman

The definitive anti-aircraft 'Mech, the Rifleman was first fielded in 2505, making it among the earliest 'Mechs ever built. Designed as a medium fire-support platform, the Rifleman was plagued with a variety of problems since its debut and was ill-suited as a front-line combatant. However, its combination of long-ranged weaponry, including rapid-fire autocannons, and its excellent targeting and tracking system ensured it would remain a viable battlefield unit through half a millennium of combat.

Kallon Industries built the first RFL-1N Rifleman for the Hegemony Armed Forces, but chronic overheating problems forced a return to the drawing boards, with an improved RFL-2N introduced fifty years later. Kallon's engineers still believed the 'Mech suffered too much from overheating, and tried to fix the problem with the definitive RFL-3N by replacing some of its heat-intensive energy weapons with autocannons. Although a marked improvement, the engineers were still not satisfied with the end result and tried to produce a 'Mech which would address the issues of heat management, protection and endurance which continued to plague the Rifleman. Their response, the JagerMech, featured several improvements over the older 'Mech but did not wholly replace it, instead complementing it whenever the two served in the same unit together.

With the collapse of the Star League and start of the Succession Wars, the Rifleman was scattered amongst the militaries of the Successor States. House Davion fielded the largest concentration of Riflemen and used them to good effect in their battles with House Kurita. Unfortunately, combat losses increasingly forced many Riflemen to be deployed directly on the front-lines, where their deficiencies in close combat against similar-mass 'Mechs were apparent. After the recovery of the Helm Memory Core, rediscovered lostech was used in an attempt to improve upon the venerable Rifleman, with manufacturers deploying a number of new variants around the time of the Clan Invasion.

By the time of the FedCom Civil War, new prototypes of Rifleman variants were still being worked on, but the aging 'Mech had since acquired a poor reputation due to its weak protection and bad heat management. The 'Mech experienced something of a revival though when Kallon's factory on the moon Talon was subjected to a blockade by the 7th FedCom RCT, disrupting production of the newer JMS-7 JagerMech. The company brought up their experimental RFL-8D Rifleman to full-scale production as just a temporary measure, but the improved 'Mech wound up being fielded by both Loyalist and Allied forces during the civil war. Additional variants were introduced since then, with both the Free Worlds League and Word of Blake making use of advanced Riflemen during the Jihad.

The Rifleman's focus on fire-support and anti-aircraft work dictated a heavy load of long-range weapons to the exclusion of everything else. It carried a particularly heavy battery of two Magna Mk. III Large Lasers paired with two Imperator-A medium autocannons, one of each mounted in each arm. Two Magna Mk. II medium lasers were split between the side torsos to provide backup. One ton of autocannon ammunition was carried in the center torso, enough for short, sharp engagements but not enough for extended periods of combat. The 'Mech's ten heat sinks were grossly inadequate for constant fire, but in an anti-aircraft role, the Rifleman was expected to have time to dissipate heat while the target aircraft turned for its next pass.

The Rifleman suffered from a miserly amount of armoring - just seven and a half tons total - with its rear torso particularly thin. It also lacked hand or lower-arm actuators, hampering it in a melee confrontation, and was not particularly fast, with a cruising speed of 43.2 km/h. When operating in its intended role of providing overwatch for other 'Mechs, these deficiencies were not terribly noticeable, and it could still overpower lighter opponents by dint of its size. These drawbacks did mean that a commander would only commit their Riflemen in a head-on confrontation with heavy enemy forces as a last resort.

An exceptional piece of electronics, the Garret D2j targeting-tracking system allowed the Rifleman to maintain an accurate lock on swift-moving aerial targets and achieve excellent accuracy. The Garret T11-A was equally impressive as a communications system, although its distinctive wing-shaped design tended to draw the enemy's attention...and their fire.

The Rifleman was limited to turning its torso 40° to either side, seemingly presenting a significant blind-spot in the rear to exploit. However, its ability to flip its arms over and use those weapons to target enemies behind it presented a nasty surprise for an enemy attempting to come up and engage the 'Mech from the rear.

[tobiasdrake]

You know, the more I think about the "Devimon reincarnated as PicoDevimon" fan-theory, the more I really like it.

Devimon's fallback plan after his ambush failed was to divide and conquer. Split the children apart from one another, then swoop in and kill them while they're isolated and defenseless.

PicoDevimon's plan is also to divide and conquer. However, lacking in the power of an Adult-stage, any minions whatsoever, or Black Gears to corrupt Digimon, PicoDevimon is forced to be subtle and manipulative.

But he is armed with a bizarrely extensive knowledge of the kids and their personalities. He's able to just nail them with these social traps rooted in their exact personalities and ideas.

"Yeah, see, Jou is Japanese and only has yen on him. So if I take him to this diner, he won't be able to pay and they'll make him work. He's guided by a sense of responsibility and won't just dine and dash. Plus, he's clumsy and inadequate, so he'll be a terrible worker! It's perfect. 'HEY JOU! You know how you've been trying to find humans for weeks!? I found some humans for you!'"

"Takeru's gullible and afraid that he's a burden on his brother. He also hates violence, like, aggressively. So if I tell him Yamato doesn't love him anymore, he'll believe it. Tokomon won't, but I can goad Tokomon into attacking me at just the right moment, and that sudden outburst of 'unprovoked' violence will be such a huge violation of Takeru's principles that it outweighs the relationship he and Takeru have!"

"Mimi's so fucking traumatized by being here that if these Gekomon give her an inch, she'll take a mile. Literally all I have to do is trick them into showing her some hospitality and she'll imprison herself in a cage of her own making!"

PicoDevimon, how do you know these children so well?

Is it because this isn't your first rodeo with them? Is that it?

[queenlua]

i used to have a pretty hackles-raised reaction to people with extremely hyperbolic Poasting Habits TM

(e.g. posts like: "if you don't reblog this you literally don't care about [terrible thing]," "[relatively-anodyne thing] is literally [maximally-awful thing] and if you don't agree just UNFOLLOW ME NOW," etc)

but then a couple ppl i knew irl-first developed these particular posting habits, and

man, their lives sucked. they were in objectively shitty situations that i wanted to help with, but like, for various reasons there just wasn't any help i could offer, or the help i could & did offer was just woefully inadequate relative to what they actually needed

so i updated to where now i'm like "okay, if someone's posting in a totally unhinged fashion, they're probably Going Through It; they're probably actually venting about some awful thing in their life, and an argument about their alleged object-level concern will go nowhere; just let them go off or whatever"

which is probably healthier & better but in an abstract way i sort of worry if i'm being dismissive/infantilizing/something??? toward ppl by adopting this posture

like... if i were complaining about something i saw as a legitimate issue, and someone's internal response was "oh she's probably just having Feelings TM," that would only make me more pissed, right? but like

sometimes people really are going through it yaknow. idk

[thepenultimateword]

Hi I don’t really see this trope often, so could u do prompts for reformed villain x hero? But it’s totally fine if not

Oooo yes!

1. A reformed villain is partnered with the agency’s golden hero, making them feel terribly inadequate. What they don’t know is that Hero was also once a villain years ago.

2. Hero does not trust this supposed ex-villain. You can’t just wake up and decide you’re not bad anymore and act like nothing ever happened. But the villain’s surrender is very good for the agency so they are putting a lot of pressure on Hero to show ex-villain the ropes and make it work.

3. After Villain reforms and joins the Hero’s team they are constantly bombarded by the press. And not all of it is nice. Hero notices the way Villain panics at the pressing crowds, cameras, and microphones, so they set out to protect them from the attention.

4. Villain did something horrible to Hero when they were nemeses, but now that the criminal has reformed and joined their team. Villain, wanting to be on good terms with his new teammates, makes several attempts at getting close to Hero but finds Hero constantly pushing them away. Villain wonders how they can show Hero they’ve really changed.

5. Villain is riddled with nightmares from their criminal years. Since the hero team shares a dorm apartment, Hero overhears them crying out in the night and feels compelled to comfort them.

6. Villain and Hero dated briefly when they were nemeses, but ultimately split because their beliefs were too different. Now Villain, newly reformed, is on Hero’s team and neither can keep back the bitter jabs. Worse, they realize still have feelings for each other, though neither is willing to admit it to the other. It’s probably much too late anyway.

7. Hero helps Villain reform and thus feels responsible for them. None of the other heroes trust Villain, but Hero volunteers to mentor them through their first year until they get the hang of things. They also always makes sure to include them in get-togethers and parties with the others. It’s nice, but Villain can’t help but start feeling like a project.

8. Villain reforms right as Hero defects to villainy; now that their roles have flipped they begin to see new sides to each other and their dynamic, and it’s all very weird.

9. Villain may be reformed but they’re still going to do good their way. This is very aggravating for the straight laced hero they’re partnered with.

10. Leader was dating Villain in secret before they reformed. Now that Villain is on the team, they’re excited to finally be able to date publicly. However, Leader keeps rebuffing their affections and acting like there’s nothing between them. It turns out Leader is still afraid of what the team will think if they find out, especially when they’re supposed to be an example.

11. An absolutely feral villain is “adopted” (into the agency) by a sunshiny hero.

12. Hero has never been good at making friends and they’ve always been apart from the other heroes. But when a new hero, a reformed villain, joins the team, they finally start to make a friend.

[limbuscompanysituations]

could you do g corp gregor x reader headcanons ?

G Corp Gregor is not only the youngest Gregor ID, he's also the most emotionally vulnerable. Also in the context of the war/human experimentation going on, it would be difficult for him to have met a partner who's a civilian. I can only imagine three scenarios in which a relationship with GC Gregor flourishes.

Reader is a soldier:

Probably not part of his squad, but they collaborate together often enough to have grown an appreciation for each other. It's mostly physical, as it's difficult to let himself have feelings other than "I need to stay alive." Still, this fellow soldier keeps coming out of combats alive, and they keep heading back to the barracks/medical tents together. They're almost always within each other's vicinity when out of battle. This mostly physical relationship progresses into Gregor starting to feel really uneasy with being apart from them. One day he finds them severely injured in the medical tent and decides to use his reputation/power to get them under his command. It's, of course, a relationship with a clear power imbalance. Still he tries to make them know that outside of combat, he's not their superior. They're friends and maybe something more. I see a lot of bitter sentiments growing after the fall of G Corp, and if this soldier survives, they will be certainly one of the many veterans who see Gregor as a traitor. The thing here is that even if they want to believe Gregor had little to no control over his role in the war, they would have to deal with years of "the hero of G Corp was a traitor and he failed us all" from other fellow veterans. This could change their mind in regards to their relationship with him. It would be rough to rekindle this relationship if they meet him again, many years later.

Reader is a researcher:

They're not responsible for the horrible things that have been done to him, and he knows that. He's still wary of them when they first meet each other, but he quickly realizes that they're not there to experiment on him, but rather try to raise his quality of life. They're oddly ethical for somebody working with biomimetics. They're kind to him, and gentle when they have to do any procedure on his body parts. He trusts them. It's not ideal for a soldier/test subject and a researcher to develop feelings for each other; this type of contact will end up affecting each other's work quality. They're willing to push through with this relationship, in spite of how inadequate it is. Luckily, neither have any power over each other so it's pretty balanced in regards to power exchange. If this researcher survives G Corp's fall and finds out Gregor is still alive, they will try to rekindle their relationship. Gregor would not be averse to that. I think it would be good for them to have one another, since nobody outside of G Corp would understand how terrible the conditions were for its employees.

Reader is a medic:

Probably a nurse who has to patch him up often. They talk to each other to keep the encounters lighthearted in spite of the urgency of the situation in G Corp. This nurse is kind to every patient they treat, but seems to have a special type of admiration towards him. Eventually he realizes the sentiments they have towards him are not those of admiration, but affection and infatuation. He is unsure of whether or not it would be a good idea, but he's lonely and depressed and they make him feel a rare sort of happiness. It wouldn't be difficult for them to pick their relationship back up after the fall of G Corp.

[ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask]

Fatal Flaw

Based on this prompt from @promptsforthestrugglingauthor.

Tagging my AF crew; @valhelos, @thefinaljediknight, @makowrites, and @weeinterpreter

=-=-=-=

The maximum security cells of Howler’s Peak were a dismal sight. Neat, tidy rows of solitary confinement cells stretching as far as the eye could see in the dim lighting. Some cells emitted angry shouts, others whispered threats, still others whimpered pleas. The cells that one typically had to really concern themselves with, however, were silent. Their occupants were too busy to bother with bargaining or threatening. They were planning.

The door Commander Trouble Kelp found himself standing outside was quiet as a grave.

“Are you, uh… are you sure, Commander?” the young guard who had accompanied him into the depths of the prison asked. She was a young goblin with bright eyes and an exceptionally intricate scale pattern. She shifted nervously from foot to foot, her tongue nervously flitting out to wet her eyes at a rapid pace. “I’ve heard things about the person behind that door. About some of the things they did. They say -”

“I’m sure,” Kelp cut her off. He noticed the young guard flinch at the sharpness in his voice and felt a certain sense of guilt for frightening her. He offered her the closest approximation to a reassuring grin he could muster. “Just open the door, Corporal Xyan,” he said in a softer voice, reading the name on her freshly pressed uniform. 

The young goblin nodded doggedly, unlocking the door. It slid open on well-oiled, whisper-quiet hinges. The cell beyond was pitch dark. For a moment, the animal side of Commander Kelp’s brain felt inclined to shy away. To stare into the unknown and flinch. It was the other side of his brain that carried him into the darkness.

It took his eyes several seconds to adjust to the lack of light. Even when they did, all he managed to pick out were the shrouded silhouettes of the very spartan furnishings of the cell. A cot along one wall. Lavatory branching off the other. A heap of laundry in the corner. No. Not laundry. A prisoner, their body curled up against itself to the point of looking nearly deflated.

Kelp’s hard boots clicking against the floor were the only sound in the room. Even his breaths seemed stifled and inadequate in the oppressive, weighty silence that permeated inside. Finally, the shrouded figure shifted.

“I didn’t think you’d come see me,” it hissed, its voice rough with disuse.

The commander fought the urge to wince. He fought down the terrible weight of guilt that threatened to overpower him. He fought the cloying sense of responsibility he felt over the person he now hardly recognized even as it clawed at his throat like an adolescent troll eager to earn its first kill. He fought these things down because they would do him no good here… he had no doubt they would return to haunt him in the dead of night.

He spent several moments trying to find his voice. When he did, he curtly responded, “Yes you did. You knew I’d come.”

A terrible, hissing laughter bounced around the cold cell walls, broken only by a few coughing fits as the prisoner’s atrophied vocal chords struggled to keep pace with their sudden use. “You’re right,” they admitted. “I knew you’d come. But I’d bet it wasn’t an easy decision to make.”

Commander Kelp frowned. An easy decision? No. No, it hadn’t been. But it was no harder deciding to come than it had been convincing himself to stay away. Three years, the prisoner had been down there. Over one thousand days. And each day, Kelp’s mind and heart had played host to the dueling urges within him - one to rush down there immediately, and the other to lock the door and throw away the key. But he’d always known he would be there eventually. It was his fatal flaw… he wanted too badly to believe in people.

One of the many things he’d picked up from his predecessor Julius Root. The closest thing he’d ever had to a father, considering that his own had died when he was barely two decades old. The fairy that Commander Trouble Kelp had molded himself after. The fairy who, despite all of his claims to the contrary, believed in his very core in the goodness of people.

This was the very flaw that had killed Julius. Commander Kelp harbored no doubts that it would claim him as well someday.

He couldn’t help but wonder if that day wasn’t today.

“No,” he finally answered aloud. “Not easy.”

“But necessary,” the voice hissed, issuing forth another fit of terrible laughter. “Commander Trouble Kelp. The youngest fairy to ever hold the rank. One of the most decorated fairies in the LEP’s history. Nothing if not self-sacrificing.”

“Well you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Kelp bit back, his ears flattening angrily against the side of his head. “As I recall, you took a fair run at sacrificing me yourself.” His left hand was clenched into a fist. His right itched for the cool, familiar feel of the tri-barrelled, water-cooled blaster he’d been forced to leave behind in the weapons lockup on the first level. ‘Protocol is protocol,’ the gnome had said with an apologetic shrug. In truth it didn’t much matter. Kelp knew he’d never have been able to draw on his current cellmate anyway. He was too attached. Too close to the issue. 

Too weak.

It took several moments for him to calm his breathing and refocus his eyes. When he did, he saw that the prisoner’s posture had shifted. Rather than the indifferent slouch of defiance, he almost thought he saw the resigned slump of remorse.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

The words were quiet. Broken. He wasn’t sure whether they’d been spoken aloud or if he just hallucinated them because they were what he wanted to hear.

Only he hadn’t wanted to hear them. Because those words were his very weakness. His fatal flaw. The sign that there was still some semblance of good in the pitiful being before him. He had hoped to find nothing but murder and hatred in this cell. Proof that he’d done the right thing. He didn’t want to hear… he couldn’t bear to hear something that shook his foundation to the core yet again. That made him rethink everything he’d been trying to tell himself he believed for the past three years.

“You sure did a good job of it, whether you meant to or not.”

The prisoner shifted, casting their eyes in his direction. Those eyes had once been bright, eager, earnest. Not unlike the eyes of the young Corporal Xyan outside. Now they were different. They looked tired. Dull. Sunken.

He stared at them, no matter how badly he wished he could look away. Looked at every square nanometer. The discoloration in the left eye, clouding its blue hue. The flecks of black in the right eye, the ones he used to count on particularly boring days of his youth.

The eyes studied him back. No doubt taking in the noticeable dulling of his own once-vibrant violet irises. The extra worry lines that had grown in the place of his old smile creases. He watched their gaze slide from one eye to the next. Up to his forehead. Down to the blotchy, discolored scars that covered the right half of his face.

“You told me you were staying home that day,” they hissed. “You weren’t supposed to be there.”

Kelp sighed, shrugging in mock casualness and began to pace back and forth in the small cell. “A lot of things were supposed to be different,” he said dismissively. “I wasn’t supposed to be held captive in a human dwelling for the better part of a day and lose most of my magical potency, leaving me without enough to even heal a few burn scars. Julius Root wasn’t supposed to go into that tunnel and get himself killed. Opal Koboi wasn’t supposed to be able to travel through time and send the world back to the stone ages for two years.”

The commander turned a hard scowl on the prisoner. “And you weren’t supposed to leave an explosive device in LEP Headquarters,” he growled harshly. “There’s a lot that should have been different.. Too bad we’re left with what is.”

The prisoner let out a long, pained breath. They almost looked like they were collapsing in on themselves. His pathetic heart be forever accursed, Kelp had to fight the urge to kneel beside them and take them into his arms. To make it alright. To tell them that he knew they were still good somewhere, deep down.

Instead he turned and slowly marched to the doorway of the cell. “Corporal Xyan,” he said, forcing the words out through clenched teeth and blinking in the comparatively blinding light of the hallway.

Xyan appeared in a moment, standing ramrod-straight and at attention. Despite her perfect, practiced posture, she couldn’t help but glance nervously over his shoulder into the darkness. “S-sir?” she asked, stammering anxiously.

“I’m told radios don’t work on this level,” Kelp said more collectedly. “Retrieval One was supposed to be here by now to transport the prisoner; I need you to head up to the Ops Center and find out what Major Gum is holding them for.”

Xyan’s tongue nervously wet her wide eyes in rapid succession. “Sir, that would leave you alone with the prisoner,” she protested. “It’s against protocol to -”

“I understand the protocol,” Kelp cut her off with a cutting motion of his hand. “Unfortunately, the good Major did not see fit to send another guard to accompany us. As such, we’ll have to make do with what we have.” When he noticed her fidgeting hands and obvious discomfort still pervaded, Kelp sighed. 

“It’s alright, Corporal,” he said, offering her a half-grin. That was all the grin he could offer… the nerves in the right half of his face having been severed by the explosion and improperly healed by his weak, faulty magic.. “Tell Gum that I ordered you specifically. He won’t give you any heat for breaking protocol.”

Xyan hesitated a moment longer, her fingers twitching nervously. Finally she reached for her belt to unholster her buzz baton and offer it to the commander. “At least keep this, Sir,” she said plaintively. “For my peace of mind.”

Kelp nodded, accepting the device. “Much obliged, Corporal. Now go.” He waited for her to hem and haw one last time before nodding and dutifully marching back down the corridor.

The commander hefted the baton in his hand, taking a few swings with it to feel its weight. The buzz batons were lighter than they used to be. He didn’t like it. They didn’t feel durable enough for the role they were designed to fill. Still… if he couldn’t have his blaster, the baton was better than nothing.

Finally he slid Xyan’s baton into the holster on his own empty belt and took a few steps toward the prisoner. “On your feet,” he grunted.

“And here my cell was just starting to feel like home,” they hissed back sarcastically. They stared up at him in silence for several pregnant moments, eyeing his hand that trailed close to the holstered baton. Finally they groaned and began hauling themselves to their feet.

“So, where to now?” the prisoner asked casually, brushing nonexistent dust off their knees. “Atlantis? Or maybe Lyonesse… I’ve heard their security is second to none. Or I suppose they could be sending me off to -”

“No,” Kelp cut off the stream of speculation. He swallowed loudly, the action painful on his bone-dry throat. “After Turnball Root and Opal Koboi, the Council is less inclined to offer mass terrorists life-in-prison sentences anymore.”

Confusion was written across their features when they turned back to him. “So, what? They’re turning me loose?” they asked, snickering at the incredulity of the situation. Then the realization and the weight of the situation seemed to fully hit them. “Oh,” they said, nodding slightly. “I see.” Their lips turned up in a sneer. “How very… human of them.”

Another oppressive silence stretched between them. Kelp fought the urge to say something… to try one last time to bridge the gap that had grown between them.

It wasn’t him who broke the silence.

“I’m not sorry for what I did to them.” The voice was soft again, though it had lost some of its roughness. This time when a word or two caught in the throat, it wasn’t from lack of practice, but from strangled emotion. They took a step toward him, facing him directly. “But… I am sorry for what I did to you. I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to betray you. I didn’t want -”

He held his hand up to forestall another word. He stared into those eyes. The same eyes he had once known. One sky blue, the other chocolate brown. For a moment they weren’t Commander Kelp and the Prisoner anymore… they were just them.

Trouble.

And Holly.

He wanted so desperately to wrap her up in his arms. To press his lips to hers so fiercely and so forcefully and so powerfully that everything else would just cease to exist. To make things right again, and refuse to ever let them be wrong.

Instead, Trouble took hold of the buzz baton. He drew it from its holster. Then he handed it out, handle first.

Holly stared at the offering curiously. “What is this?” she asked skeptically.

Trouble offered her whatever hideous impersonation of a smile he could. “Retrieval One is still fifteen minutes out,” he breathed. “Foaly will have taken care of whatever doorways you need to have a chance to make a clean break out of here.” His breath caught in his throat. Despite having spent weeks planning it, he still couldn’t believe that he was springing a convicted enemy of the People.

Then she smiled at him, and her eyes sparkled in the way that they only ever had for him, and he believed it.

She took the baton from his hands. Then she stepped forward until she was pressed against his chest, and their arms automatically found their way around one another. “Come find me,” she whispered, staring deeply into his eyes while her fingers found their way into his hair. “Someday. Promise.”

He wanted to say no. He wanted to be strong. He wanted to beat his fatal flaw.

“Wait for me,” he breathed. “I’ll find you. Someday.”

She leaned up on her toes to kiss him. He could only feel half of her perfect lips pressing against his own broken, desensitized pair. After three years of torturous nightly dreams… half was enough. “I will,” came her answer. “I’ll wait for you.”

The crackle of the buzz baton against his chest made every muscle in his body contract simultaneously as electricity surged through him. He let out a pained grunt, then collapsed to the floor. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was her eyes. The eyes of a criminal.

No.

Holly’s eyes. The eyes of the only fairy he’d ever loved. The eyes of a good fairy. No matter how hard he tried to tell himself otherwise, that was what he truly believed at his core. That people were good. It was his fatal flaw. It was going to get him killed someday.

All he could do was hope that today wasn’t that day.

[thebookhoard]

Title: The Count of Monte Cristo

Author: Alexandre Dumas

Pages: 1243

"Thrown on prison for a crime he has not committed, Edmond Dantès is confined to the grim fortress of If. There he learns of a great hoard of treasure hidden on the Isle of Monte Cristo and he becomes determined not only to escape, but also to use the treasure to plot the destruction of the three men responsible for his incarceration. Dumas' epic tale of suffering and retribution, inspired by a real-life case of wrongful imprisonment, was a huge popular success when it was first serialised in the 1840s."

The book club strikes again. I have to say that I needed some time to get into the story. The plot summary (above) didn't quite convince me that it's enjoyable, BUT I stand corrected. Although I was able to guess many plot points and relations between the characters I had fun in doing so and even more when I was right. As someone who doesn't speak French I sometimes had difficulties with pronouncing the names of people and places, but it was only a small hindrance.

Which amused me the most was that a book written 180 years ago uses the saying "cool as a cucumber" (at least the English translation, I don't know how it was written in French).

Memorable quotes:

'So remain a fisherman, don't dream of things that will make reality seem even more terrible to you - and be content with my friendship, because I cannot give you anything else.'

'In business, Monsieur, as you very well know, one has no friends, only associates.'

'But there are twenty-four hours in a day, sixty minutes in an hour and sixty seconds in a minute. A lot can be done in eighty-six thousand four hundred seconds.'

'Human justice is inadequate as a consolation: it can spill blood for blood, that's all. But one must only ask it for what is possible, not for anything more.'

'(...) all human wisdom is contained in these two words: 'wait' and 'hope'.'

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

I'm doing the healthy thing and making posts about Astarion without reading anyone else's analyses or doing any research on the topic at hand.

IDK if there's any huge background on Astarion's life before he was turned, but I'm getting the sense that he was a shitlord as a magistrate before he was turned (Lawful Evil at best), so in the immediate aftermath it was a bit of karma, a haughty political official brought low by the rabble Gur and then enslaved with vampirism by Cazador, his power and means stripped from him and forcibly prostituted in perhaps a similar way that someone who is corrupt would be with their morals for the purpose of gold or power.. but it turned into a Theon Greyjoy/Reek situation where the torture and mistreatment would make any third party or audience go "ok, well..ok, *well*.. this is too much." Astarion has always craved power, not simply because he was denied it, but because he enjoyed the privileges of power in a government position. This man didn't become ambitious and ruthless simply out of desperate need to survive and desire to escape Cazador, it was always in him, but those desires came to be tied to existential compulsions after his kidnapping--he will do *anything* to survive, do *anything* to see to it that he would not be hurt again.

Astarion is an intriguing character because we are not presented with a man whose personality was stripped bare and twisted to become a ruthless, cruel, ambitious manipulator. He very likely had those tendencies to begin with, but he was able to manage and conscientiously apply them in situations as would a psychopath on Wall Street. His life as Cazador's slave sharpened his lust for power and his predisposition toward disregarding for others by virtue of not being him (a survival technique) while also dulling his self-control. The blase attitude he has toward others' suffering appears on the surface as par for the course for the type of man he haphazardly tries to obfuscate as--comedic sociopathy, and he could be calling upon what little traces of his past self he can still recall, but underneath it I think there are truly instances of a stark lack of consideration for others in a way that is chilling. While there are times it feels like he is leaning on apathy for the purpose of a joke or to avoid the pain of empathy, there are times where that callous disregard for others is genuine. It's an impenetrable wall, a 'grass is green, I don't care about your suffering' A to B response.

Here is a man who was an asshole before his turning, one that you and me would've loved to have seen thrown over a castle wall for being a bastard of a bureaucrat, who was tortured and broken down and compelled to do terrible things for Cazador as a slave that amounted to hundreds upon hundreds of kidnappings and murders over the centuries (among other crimes), and who, whereupon finding himself inexplicably removed from the situation and temporarily out of his master's immediate control, contends himself with indulging in a wide variety of subversive activities and behaviors that are now motivated by deprivation, spite, and barely fettered id.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that Astarion is not a perfect victim, or even a good person. He is not a good person. He was a Bad Person back when he had full control of his faculties and behavior, he was forced to be a Bad Person under Cazador, and unless you steer him correctly, he will continue his trajectory of being a Bad Person With a Freudian Excuse. In a weird way, the word "deserve" is almost moot, because you are presented with a scenario in which the word itself is horribly inadequate in accurately articulating the labyrinthine swath of scribblings in his ledger, so to speak. This is not to say that Astarion doesn't deserve help, but you're not helping a Good man-turned-Evil, you are helping a charming-but-still-evil man that was subjected to evil and became even more evil as a result. You can't fully purge him of that very real evil that is inherent to his nature, your task is to CTRL+Z the extra layer of Evil that has been burned into his soul.

And that's an interesting venture. You're not given the opportunity or choice to completely transform him as a person. If you Ascend him, you are hitting the logical end result of where his dreams and desires will get him. If you refuse to Ascend him, you are still left with a lil villain, but a more humane one, a more grounded one, either your best friend or your dearest lover, someone who understands, acknowledges, and allows himself the vulnerability to feel gratitude, because he knows the only thing you will want in return is honesty and friendship. Redeeming him does not mean turning him Good, it means giving him the ability to feel like a fully realized person again.

[plasticfangtastic]

Cozy Corner Domaystic

Prompts– 30. Doing the dishes, 11. Unexpected gift– sort of, alt. prompt ‘Oh what is this?’

Lemon Scented Mess

A Butchie fanfic

Tags: light smut, takes places between s3/s4 so spoilers for s3/s4, cheating, vers Butcher, vers Hughie, both r bi, depressive.

word count: 3.9K

A/N: apply just porn logic to this fic, could not for the life of me find a gif of Butcher's ass... 1st time writing a Butchie fic so am sorry if this feels butchlander for some reason.

Is an odd sense of responsibility that keeps him here– since they met that night at the electronic store he’s been bound to Butcher, following him like a starved dog craving his endless attention unconsciously… his approval and praise… Butcher was this larger than life figure. Everywhere he walked he pulled everything with his own magnetic field, violently changing everything to suit him.

Hughie had sunk and disappointed the ghost of his grandparents with all he’s done– all he’s done to impress this Englishman… even if he’d never said it outloud.

Annie would chastise him for going so far to impress this bastard all the time, which he would vehemently deny at every turn as he continue lying to himself, it had begun to leave their relationship in tethers and frankly he was doing this to avoid couples therapy… Worse was that he was the one who suggested it in the first place. So instead of doing that– he was helping Butcher do his laundry.

Some days he wished he had never brought over a weekend bag– between the medication and  the side-effects medication, the excessive smoking and drinking, the quirks and general crudeness Butcher wasn’t an easy roommate much less patient… unbearable was the better word, on the good days he was back to his gruff usual self which was well… Billy.

Hughie woke up with a sore back, sleeping on Butcher’s sofa wasn’t completely terrible, it was just too small for him, Butcher had casually suggested buying a fold-out couch for Hughie and if his back ache any harder he might take in his offer but in the meantime he didn’t want Butcher to worry for him when there was so much on their plate already. 

As he hopped off the sofa his feet move on their own heading straight to the kitchen before he can even take a piss, he has to force Butcher to take his medication if not he’ll grind it into his tea, it feels as if he’s medicating a stubborn dog, but its now just routine for him, but he doesn’t have to do a thing this morning-- Butcher’s already in the kitchen, his teeth loudly grinding on his pills as he groans at the bitter taste before washing it down with chamomile then washing that away with what’s left of the ciggy in his hands.

Not that Hughie is really paying attention to his unhealthy breakfast for all he’s trying to ignore is the nudity.

One thing he’s learned since forcing himself to live with Butcher… is that the man refused to change his ways, he slept bare– no matter how cold he got, he just added another throw blanket or raised the thermostat.

At first it made him uncomfortable, made him squeal like an embarrassed teenage girl but now he had to hide his prolonged peeking.

As Butcher paraded himself out the kitchen, hughie had to do everything in his power to subdue the moan caught in his throat as he caught a closer glimpse of that thick veiny cock, Butcher was unfairly endowed, everything about him was unfair, sick and dying but he didn’t skip a workout, still looking strong despite a tumor in his brain– broad shoulders, hung, gruff hands and hairy chest… the complete opposite of himself, it made him feel more inadequate than envious… and terribly horny too.

He was unlike any man he’s met before, certainly nothing like his father or his old friends… he was crude machismo with an accent.

He wondered if they were going to do anything today, he’d already blew off his doctor’s appointment yesterday, he’s visited his aunt and his dog earlier this week, and he’s done their groceries already, work had been done and he’s only home today because he’s been puking all day yesterday from the dizziness.

“How are you feeling today?” he says loudly as he serves himself some tea.

“Like I’m dying. Just not feeling it today…” Butcher ties his gray sweatpants loosely around his hips as he comes back from his bedroom– You could go see your lady, I’ll be alright.”

“You forgot she left for Chicago yesterday, she’s doing that charity thing she told you about– so Annie won’t be back till wednesday.” He gulps as Butcher slumps on the couch, wrapping himself on Hughie’s blanket– I’ll call her later…”

Butcher raises his eyebrow but says nothing as he grabs the remote control.

“Oh… well I’m going to finally start watching Bridgerton so you’re free to join me!” he says with disappointment– we can cuddle.” his shit eating grin is more annoying than usual.

“I’ll pass… the cuddling that’s it.”

Hughie can’t say he wants to watch it but he doesn’t quite want to leave Butcher either… he’s not sure where it began, when did he started devouring him in his mind, he’s always been improper with him, saying things that would give a nun a stroke, they shared a lot together, poisoned and tainted their souls together, nearly died by each other sides as much as they’ve fought one another– it made them close… now instead watching some posh drama with a miserable old man, he’s ogling him… those weird remarks now stuck to him, deep down he knows is probably this sense of dreadful captivity driving him mad, sharing his space, sharing everything from plates to towels… making the older man dependant on him as he was too much of a brute to stick to his regime, it felt good to make that stubborn man do as he’s told, it felt good to force Butcher to appreciate him.

He finds him too relaxed, too vulnerable– he can’t forget that he was stroking his cock underneath that blanket a few hours ago thinking of those rough hands squeezing his neck after too many brews, his sluggish words hidden behind a thickened accent, his body pressed so tightly against him all he can focus is his scent, the spicy sweetness of his skin, the strong aroma of tobacco staining his fingers and whisky souring his lips, of the thought of those plump lips doing more than curse.

Sometimes Hughie thinks that he’s still high on temp V, that that poison damaged his brain in ways the doctor’s had missed.

For that’s the only excuse he gives himself when he wakes up from his trance, staring at the happy trail peeking from those loose gray trousers, at the shape of his cock as it lays defendless.

He squeezes his legs, pretending he’s being pushed away by Butcher selfishly taking all the space, his ears heating up as he accepts his losing battle of wills against his own penis, he jerks off every night but is not enough… ever since that disastrous battle against Soldier Boy back in the tower, him and Annie had been in a slump, sexb was out of the question, at most they gave each other head but it wasn’t enough, did he missed her so much (her body at least) he now projected his pent-up desires to the next domineering person in his life.

Butcher briefly looked away from the screen as he sensed the weight shift throughout the cushions, looking down catching those long legs squeeze, snickering at the sight, counting the minutes before the young lad runs to the bathroom and disappears for ten minutes or so, looking down to hide the blush on his cheeks as ifs not painted on his ears. 

Rubbing his feet against the younger man’s thigh, teasing him knowing he’s pent up and frustrated, his mind going places that he knows he shouldn’t– Billy just doesn’t care anymore, there’s a timer above him running out of sand afterall. William knows that it’s wrong to cross the line, he knew the moment he stopped seeing Lenny on his skin, the moment he stopped being his canarie as the others so sweetly put it– the first time he stood up to him, that he wanted him.

It gave him a rush, he wanted to break the boy once more, subdue him, he liked the obedient pretty boy who unspokenly wished to please him, to gain his approval but who still had a spark inside him.

Yet as his clock ran out of sand, a part of him… as sick as it was wanted to leave him scarred with himself.

Blurred lines, confusing flirtations hidden behind jokes, touches that lingered a second too long were his weapon of choice.

As the younger man excused himself, moving quickly to hide that throbbing boner, Butcher waits until the lock clicks before milking himself.

Mouth parting as soft gasps hide themselves behind his sheet, huffing the boy’s shampoo, his perfume coating him, as women bicker in the back his mind plays an x-rated film… poor little Hughie spreading himself, glistening fingers, pre-cum spilling down his thin thighs, his heaving chest, mewling after him, biting his lips so hard they’re left purple as Butcher leaves handprints on each cheek.

He cums before his own fantasy self even gets to cum, he would complain but he knows he doesn’t have a lot of time before Hughie’s done so he rushes to the kitchen to wash his hand.

In the Bathroom is the same scene yet it looks more desperate, his movie more unrealistic.

Hughie hands pulling on those raven locks, pushing the man down his length, nails clawing down his thighs as he chokes on his cum… Hughie moans into his chest, as his own fantasy gives him a shit eating grin, his Butcher letting his thick seed gloss his plump lips, playful licks as he washes the umami off him, crying for more, demanding Hughie roughens him more

He needs to leave the house is his first clear thought.

He needs to go get laid for real before he finds himself doing something his and Annie’s therapist won’t be able to amend.

He could never tell Annie any of these fantasies, but even in the dead of night when the only sound is that of the city around him, her face fades and it is him that consumes him.

He bets he tastes salty and tarty, he bets he’s strong and mainly in a way he could never achieve, in a way that most girls would find icky but that will get him called a faggot by the older man for enjoying.

As he flushes the paper trail, he looks at the cheapest plane ticket to Chicago on his phone, he should go surprise Annie, bringing peace offerings and pray to any listening God that Annie will fuck him… and to the gods who aren’t listening that they will stop him from muttering ‘Billy’ as he makes a mess of himself.

Butcher chucks his phone aside as Hughie comes back from the restroom.

“I ordered some chinese.” He says quietly– Marina got a proposal… quite a salacious offer in my opinion.”

“Oh…” Hughie couldn’t point out Marina in a line-up even if there was a gun to his head– that’s cool… cool.”

“You okay lad? Do I’ve got to call the plumber or sum’thing?” He jokes– just looking a little flustered there, luv.”

“I’m good!” His eyes widened– just glad you’re eating something today, barely got you to keep the soup last night.”

“I think I gotta tell the doc to change my meds…”

“Or maybe we shouldn’t be self-medicating with ketamine and god knows what else” he grumbles.

“Okay mom.”

He at least begins to pay attention to the drama happening to these siblings, he’s sure that Annie would like this show which makes him feel more guilty than jerking off to somebody else.

Food arrives and he knows this is too much food but at least the man seems to be eating without problem.

He would’ve relaxed and calmed down had he not played him so dirty, as they pack their leftovers Butcher offers to wash the dishes, last night’s plates and half drunk teacups still in the small sink.

Water splashing down his stomach, lemon scented foam slides down his forearms, making a lemon scented mess of foam all over the sink edges, he’s needlessly messy, and Hughie can’t stop biting his lip as he sees the wet line on the edge of his sweatpants.

Butcher turns drying his hands on his sides.

Pants soaked, and he thinks he’s funny when he starts pulling on the elastic, showing more of that thick bush concealed inside it.

“I should probably take these off.”

“Please…” His voice is a whimper.

Eyes shot open when he notices he’s thought out loud, he might as well go pick up his plot and suit, his heart is racing so hard and loud he wouldn’t be shocked to learn that Butcher can hear it too.

Butcher doesn’t look horrified in the least, his mouth drops for a second before it turns into a predatory smile, he can see malice in his eyes as he takes a few steps closer, the kitchen too small for the both of them, so close he can feel the heat coming from his chest, he’s seen this grin before and it usually came coated in blood, their feet dance until Hughie is trapped between him and the counters.

Even if the disease had weakened him, he still grabs his wrist with violent strength, ‘he could break his wrist clean’ the panicked voices in his head shout as calloused fingers pull him closer.

“Please, what?” He says with a deep growl.

“...Billy?” he squinted his face not knowing what to do.

“All I can think of right now is ‘Oh what's this?’” He whispers.

Hughie looked down, his own body had betrayed him, the tent in his pants spoke a million words.

“So… what is going on?” He leaned closer, absorbing the gap– did puberty just hit ya?”

His forearm is muscular and veiny, it makes him look dainty by comparison, he gulps as he feels those rugged hands tug at his erection– he knows it's over at this point. 

This felt like a porno, like one of his pubescent fantasies like the ones he had with his algebra teacher where he would pin him to his desk and jerk him off, the kind that sprung to mind every time Mr. Sinclair bend over while wearing those tight khakis that were just the wrong size but it didn’t matter ‘cuz it let Hughie see everything in peace but this isn’t Mr. Sinclair hand tugging at his cock… this is his friend… his boss… the guy he should be running away from.

But he doesn’t he’s jerking his hips following the rhythm of the man as he mocks him, he coos, and says dirty insults into his ears, mocking him for leaking like a bitch, chuckling into his neck petting the stain building up at the tip of his tented pajamas.

Butcher was just teasing him but now he’s fully committed to fucking him up.

He wanted to ruin the young man.

He wants him to remember him until his last breath either as a blissful memory or a horror story.

Dying had him thinking wrong.

Made worse by how little Hughie was resisting, watching the boy biting his lips trying to suppress his moans as he squeezed just a little harder, crumbling under his lip as he whispers in his ears.

“Tell me what you want Hughie.” His voice is gentle, almost needy– tell daddy what nasty little things are in yer mind.”

Hughie hands crawl into Butcher’s chest squeezing at his pecs.

“Blow me.”

“No, ‘pretty please’?”

“Sluts don’t deserve manners.”

His hand does fit perfectly around his neck, Hughie learns. Butcher can only but let out a dry chuckle as he sees the determination on the young man, he’s seen this fire before is the same flame that left third degree burns on his ego in the past.

Butcher licks his lips, his hand leave that crying cock before yanking the man’s pants in one drop, Hughie eyes open wide as his stomach sinks and realizes that Butcher is on his knees, before he can make an apology or command, Butcher tongue draws circles on his blushing tip, long strokes drink his precum clean.

His blood runs cold then boils, his whole body burns so high it hurts in the best way possible, as he feels the inside of that mouth.

Butcher sucks with so much force he could’ve sworn he’s stuck his prick on a vacuum cleaner, he’s drooling as the man sucks him with desperation and need, filthy wet sounds echo across the kitchen, toes curling as he looks down at those darkened eyes– glee and delight as Hughie can’t help himself from moaning louder than Butcher ever could, he’s a vocal boy, Butcher learns. His hand finally find a tuft of hair to pull, forcing Butcher to follow his direction, his other hand under his shirt squeezing at his nipple, Butcher’s spare hand is busy teasing Hughie’s skin, his nails sharp– stroking the tender trembling flesh, squeezing his ass until he knows he’ll leave a bruise.

Slapping the hardened cock on his lips, his smile is more scary than sensual, like he knows he can make him cry if he wanted to.

“I’ll let you cum if you remember your manners, you skinny poof.” His fingers had made a knot at the base of his cock, he gingerly kissed the tip, a playful tease that Hughie can’t fight, he knows he’s at his limit and so does Butcher as he kisses those heavy balls.

Bringing them into the warmth of his mouth as he denies all attention to his member, his tongue swaying side to side, before letting go with a loud pop.

“Oh God! Oh God please William!!”

“What no begging?”

“Fuck you!”

Butcher laughs before choking, Hughie quickly pulls on Butcher’s hair as his mouth gapes to let out a wince, Hughie sticks himself inside it, letting out a loud moan as he feels the warmth again, both hands keep Butcher’s head in place as he turns him into a sleeve, Butcher’s hands growing limp as he just accepts his fate, he’s a trance, a calm wash away him as the young man uses him, a warmth washes over him, he wants Hughie to touch him more, he likes that odd pleasurable feeling everytime his thumb rubs his ears, he likes hearing him grunt as he moans Butcher’s name, going back and forth between ‘William’ and ‘Billy’, it makes his cock tingle.

It comes as a surprise when it rains inside his mouth, its light, the taste slightly sharp, his legs trembling around Butcher, he bucks a few times making sure to leave it all inside Butcher, enjoying every second as his throat clasp around his member.

He looks down as sanity leaves the building so he can admire his work.

Glistening trails connect them, Butcher looks satiated his neck craning as it chases after him, as he pants with exhaustion, Hughie freezes as his tongue touches him again, wanting to clean him not leaving a trace of evidence, making sure he’s taken all that delicious treat for himself.

“I’m going to kill you.” He says as he licks his lip cleans.

“...”

Next thing he knows, he’s been picked up like a potato sack towards the bedroom, the frame almost giving up as he throws him into the firm mattress.

In this light he can see those muscles clearly, that firm body of him hovering on top of him as it rips his shirt off, tearing it without caring it was new, that flushed hairy chest dripping sweat into him, Hughie whines as Butcher tugs on his hair, he never expected to kiss him for the first time after he’d sucked him off first, the rough kiss that gnaws at his lips, that forces its way into his mouth, exploring it eagerly and hungrily, grows needier and softer as Hughie reciprocates, his arms wrapped around broad shoulders, trembling as hardened nubs rub against each other, Hughie kisses like he’s in a romance movie for chicks, moaning against his lips every time Butcher’s hands explore more of him, letting out the sweetest sounds as those sharp nails slide across him, their eyes shut for the most part, just wanting to enjoy the feeling of each other’s bodies, their heat and how amazing it feels to finally give in.

Kissing until jaws are sore but they won’t stop, grindign againts each other until they have to stop just to address the thick puddle in-between them.

“I don’t think we can… y’know go… the whole way…” Hughie sounds apologetic and angry at the same time– I dunno…”

“Is okay, we can do something else” he says softly.

He kisses the younger man’s chin, chewing on his skin leaving hickeys on his neck.

Hughie watchest attentively as the man leaves him for a moment as he takes a large bottle of lube from the side table, flicking the lid open before flipping Hughie around.

“Lift your ass for me baby.” He does as he’s told– damm… who taught youse to arch your back like that? I should send him a christmas card… ” He chuckles lightly.

“What are you gonna do?” He says nervously but equally excited.

“Shhh… just enjoy yourself and follow my lead.” 

He squeezes Hughie’s thight’s together, before letting the warm liquid drizzle onto his behind, smiling as he spasm, fingers spreading the lub where it needs to go, teasing his entrance, slick coated fingers dancing across the sensitive skin, drawing esoteric shapes letting the warming lube take a peek inside him, he slathers more in between his thighs and Hughie finally figures what Butcher’s doing when he feels that thick veiny thing rub it's wet tip against his entrance, spreading his boy pussy, kissing him, teasing holy communion, Butcher inhales sharply trying to control himself, hungry to enter him but he will begrudgingly respect him, spreading some lube on his shaft before lowering the tip.

He fucks the gap, his cock leaking onto Butcher’s as it rubs him, as he feels the agonzing tease of being fucked but he’s not fucking him where he wants the most, he feels shame for enjoying this… he wants Butcher to fuck him for real, not to tie his hand around their cocks, the adrenaline is not enough, is simply not enough.

With each rough trust he becomes painfully aware of just the way he’s not being wrecked.

Arching his back more so he can kiss him better, their bodies glued together, as his arm hook themselves around Butcher’s neck.

“You won! please… please fuck me.”

“Who's the slut now?”

“Me! I get it am your slut now fuck me Butcher!” He’s cute when he’s angry, Butcher thinks– geez…”

Hughie is left running out of breath, he has no idea when he found himself bouncing on his cock while the man just soaked the view, Butcher bucking his hips whenever he felt like it, or fucking him mercilessly, he’s cum three times already but he can’t stop his hips, Butcher just teases him in a way that no other man has, the way he bites on his chest, all those awful names he calls him in between passionate kisses, that terribly excite him.

Tender kisses as they both grow tired, as Butcher cums inside him leaving him full.

“I’ll let you have a round with me later…” 

Hughie looks up as his body collapses beside him, not understanding the proposition at first.

He looks exhausted but happy, there’s a softness in his expression that Hughie has never witnessed before, Butcher plays with Hughie’s hair as the twink plays with the other’s hairy chest.

It begins as a secret game, neither of them speak a word to the others, not out of fear but because it was theirs, all they offer is the same boring thing, even when he sneaks his hand inside Butcher’s pants to squeeze at his ass, spreading him by tugging at the base of the beads, teasing him as the others turn their backs to them at the office.

Both enjoy the twisted thrill of what’s going on between them.