𓆃 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓.
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— arbitrate. Locking the sore spot away from his memory again, he pinches the bridge of his nose, offering a look bordering on remorseful.

"... Your brothers don't have to know. I will shield your activities... 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘺... so that you can have your fun. Sound fair?"

— Not ever. Just as quickly, he releases him, loosing a frustrated grunt.

"𝘐 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴..."

His lip curls, but it's only because he thinks of his sisters and the endless, pointless conflict between them that he's forced to endure and —

In an instant, the elder is upon him– gripping his chin with only the most efficient pressure, eyes ablaze with fire like harbinger eclipses.

"𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝑩𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌, 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒐𝒕?"

The inflection itself subliminally deafening, yet born of a quiet fury. Nathaniel does not raise his voice. —

— say of course, but maintaining at least the illusion of choice seemed preferable.

He loved that. Curiosity was amongst humanity's strengths– as well as their downfall. Both sides of the coin brought him great humor.

"Yes. I think we should."

He nodded, but this time it was a little more open-ended. Less a demand, and more a suggestion. He knew what the other would —
// 25 followers away 👀
// if i make it to 200, i will trap this disgusting rat bastard in his human body without his powers for two weeks

mazel tov ✌️
// yeah i just needed a little good news in my life rn lol
// met the landlord for the new place today and holy SHIT what a breath of fresh air
literally the polar opposite of the tyrant i'm currently living under lmao
small positives, gotta think of the small positives rn 🙏

— to pace, circling like a starving vulture. He doesn't like that word, murder. It's too /personal/– as though they are equals.

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩. Then, let him stew for a while, like a nice roast...~ Only then will he approach your grace..."

Golden eyes shimmering with doting delight, he rattles a shackle with a gentle push and a chortle. Wiggly never fails to make him laugh.

"My point– your toy 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 manages to get himself killed first. You want to break him, you can't simply tear him apart..."

By force of habit, he begins —

— his full attention. The proposition does make him hum softly in approval.

"... Yes, let's. On the condition that you show some restraint."

He stood, reaching out to brush a hand along the wall the teen was chained to.

"You want to shake things up? Let me teach you, and he'll be yours."

The god doesn't flinch, but he does raise a brow at the violent sight. 𝘔𝘺 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦... 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. He rolls his eyes slightly, but doesn't stop smiling.

"Focus, Y'Wrath."

He chides gently, plopping his chin in his hand as he gives the other —

ㅤwHaT aRe YoU oN???

ㅤㅤ𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙢 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙢, 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙖𝙨𝙨
Reposted by 𓆃 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓.
i feel marooned in this body
deserted , my organs can go on without me

A pang of something resembling anguish; a froth of foam in his heart. Trepidation. He should know by now not to become complacent.

He should know that nothing good is meant to stay.

In response, he nods thoughtfully, conjuring up a modest seat for himself beside his son. Staring at the injured teen like the stuck pig on a hook he is.

"I know you can."

He dangles the carrot then, calculating and precise.

"... He usually goes first, doesn't he?"

— Maybe it's been too long. Maybe it's pride. Maybe for once, he just... doesn't have the answer.

"... If the prudy one does not please you now, perhaps it's time to find another? Reinvent yourself."

— that makes Wiggog so cherished... even still, he shakes his head fondly as he approaches the throne.

"You have near boundless potential, my child... why stifle yourself so?"

He reaches a hand out, perhaps to initiate some form of physical comfort, but slowly withdraws it. —

He listens attentively, with his usual brand of joyous stoicism. As he begins to understand the reason for the fit, his eyes close, breathing a heavy sigh of near relief through his nose.

It's like looking in a mirror. A reflection of his younger self. Perhaps it is some sort of narcissism —

If precision were a precipice, you'd have fallen off it ages ago.

... Your brain is as dry as the remained biscuit after voyage.

— Though, he wasn't entirely sure who he was analyzing anymore. The boy in front of him, or something else.

"You would've revisited this, with or without me. No?"

Maybe, maybe not. Maybe his presence made Daniel bolder. Maybe he just wanted a witness. Whatever the case, he'd see it through.