#The desperation that repetition invokes

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

”I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you-! Hold on!”

[angelicyouth]

Risky

⇢ pairing: kenny mccormick x marsh!reader x craig tucker

⇢ synopsis: ❝Four (4) times that you almost got caught by the rest of the boys + the one (1) time that you actually did.❞

⇢ warning: sexual content

⇢ note: part of the [youth au] but can be read by itself!

♡*･｡ﾟ// ONE (Craig):

Whenever Kenny or Craig spend their time playing video games online with the rest of the boys, you'll typically find yourself sitting on the floor in between their legs to hang out with them despite the difference in your activities.

You'll hug one of their limbs against your chest and rest a chin on their thigh, a blanket wrapped around your shoulder for warmth and a soft pillow cushioned underneath your body for comfort.

During occasions like these, you'll often occupy your own time by eating some snacks that you hand feed to the mouth of whichever boyfriend is currently playing as your unoccupied fingers swipe against the glass screen of your cellphone.

Whenever they have time to spare in between games or they're waiting the few seconds for their character to respawn, their hands will always find purchase on your head as they either run their fingers through the silky locks of your hair or pat your head for patiently waiting for him.

A variation of good girl’s or look at my pretty baby will be mumbled against your soft skin as they plant a kiss onto your forehead or cheek, gently showering you with all sorts of praise and affection.

((Kenny and Craig have found you asleep from this position from time to time, the repetitive motions of their fingers in your hair soothing you to slumber. When this happens, the boys are sure to baby you with gentle massages to your sore neck when your eyelashes softly flutter awake. The blonde will often joke about how they should get you a dog bed for underneath their gaming setup, causing you to pout and for him to pepper your face with an onslaught of kisses until you smile again. It’s hard to stay mad when he softly coos at you, Kenny greatly endeared by anything and everything you do.))

Sometimes, when you're feeling particularly needy, you like to sit on their lap so that both of your chests are pressed up against each other with your chin planted on their shoulder.

You'll either wrap your arms around their waist or drape them over their broad shoulders as you play with your own handheld gaming console behind their body.

((When you do this, Craig will often complain of the heat from the close proximity of another body and from the blanket thrown over your joined forms but he has never suggested that he doesn't like it or that he doesn't want you to do this anymore.))

If you're feeling playful, you like to tease them with small kitten licks to the expanse of skin you have access to, mixed along with the contrasting harsh suction of your mouth as you invoke a trail of vivid reds and deep purples for them to find later on.

Seeing their skin slicked up with saliva, you find joy when you blow onto the wet area and see goosebumps run along their entire body from the sensation.

Sometimes when you're feeling particularly possessive, you'll bite down just to see the imprint of your teeth against what's yours.

At a sight like that, this usually transitions into you grinding your body against their lap when you feel their hardening member underneath you.

It drives them absolutely crazy when small puffs of your hot breath quickly hits the column of their neck as you burrow your face into their skin, the sensation leaving you breathless and desperate for some much needed oxygen.

At this point, Kenny will immediately throw his controller carelessly onto the desk in front of him to go AFK so that he can get his hands on your body.

And because of his rush to touch you, he'll leave his headset on.

The blonde has absolutely no shame so he doesn't give a fuck when the boys start complaining and yelling at him for costing the whole team their win—they'll immediately shut up when they hear his low moans through the microphone, the breathy way he praises you for taking him in so well, and the lewd sounds of your slicked lips pressing against each other.

This doesn't work on Craig, however.

He chances a glance at you when you turn around from your usual position from between his legs on the floor but you just flash him an innocent smile in reassurance, your chin resuming its position against the top of his thigh but dangerously close to his crotch, more so than usual.

You'll play along with the material of his pants and the creases against the fabric in faux innocence as you watch a video on your phone, slowly inching your hand closer and closer to his member.

You palm him against your hand and the corner of your lips quirk up in a smirk when you can see his jaw tensing at the pressure you exert onto his body, his teeth clenched as he forms rigid replies to the boys.

He accidentally lets out a low but throaty groan when you place a wet kiss on the skin of his taut stomach, your unoccupied hand lightly skimming itself against his bare side and eliciting a shiver to rack throughout his whole body.

All the boys are quick to chime in with concern by asking if he's getting attacked or needs help from any one of them, Butters insistent in transferring a healing potion into the ravenette's inventory despite his refusal for aide.

Be prepared for the consequences when he finally finishes his games because that man will punish you.

"You act like a bad girl then you get treated like one."

The ravenette will edge you so that when you begin to feel the familiar build up of your release as he eats you out, you'll loudly wail when his hot tongue is immediately substituted with the cold air of the room that hits your weeping folds.

He'll sit you up on his lap while he's deep inside of you but you're not allowed to move or make any type of noise while he plays for a whole match.

He won't properly fuck you until you succeed with being quiet for an entire game.

♡*･｡ﾟ// TWO (Kenny):

Whenever you guys do long distance drives that amount to an exceedingly large number of hours to get to your destination, the group will typically rotate on drivers throughout the whole trip.

It's Kenny's turn to drive one of the cars that holds the boys to somewhere warmer for a camping trip (with the amount of people in Team Stan + Team Craig including Butters and yourself, you'll usually take 2-3 cars in total).

All the other guys in the car are fast asleep at the back so you don't even take a glance at the blonde driver to the left of your position at the passenger side when your hand innocently rests itself against his thigh.

When you start to lightly trail your slender hand against his slowly hardening member, Kenny's trembling fingers will reach out to turn up the music just a tad bit so that the blissfully oblivious boys don't wake up from any suspicious sounds.

You can hear his audible gulp amongst the snoring of the sleeping teens, his hand clenching it’s hold around the leather steering wheel in front of him as you nonchalantly stare out at the passing scenery from outside the window in an attempt to hide your smirk.

He'll sing along to the music playing in an additional effort to mask up the lewd noises but his words begin to get breathier and dangerously waver when your tongue pays special attention to the vein running along his heavy length or when you swirl your wet muscle around his leaking tip.

The blond will curse underneath his breath when he can't buck his hips up to fuck your mouth like he usually does because he doesn't want the sound of you gagging or the crude noise of saliva against your slicked lips to rouse the guys from their slumber.

Kenny accidentally swerves sharply on the road when your hand wraps around the remaining girth that doesn't fit into your mouth, expertly twisting your smaller hand around the base in time to your bobbing mouth when someone from the back lightly groans at the harsh motion.

His large hand tightens itself around the hair at the base of your head as you take all of him in and the slight tugging he provides feels amazing, causing you to moan against his member.

The vibrations from the sounds you make causes him to reach his climax, the blonde biting his lips so hard to muffle his groan that all he can taste is the distinct, metallic taste of copper.

Fortunately, the boys don't wake up until 5-10 minutes after your ministrations as Clyde begins to whine about needing to use the bathroom and Cartman starting to complain about getting some more snacks for the road.

When you're at the closest gas station, filling up your plastic cup with some flavored ice-cold slushie to sip at in the car, Craig will raise an eyebrow when he tastes Kenny's lingering bitterness in your mouth when he kisses you.

Kenny will snicker when the boy's start to admonish the ravenette after they see yours and his purple stained tongues, a result from the mixture of Craig's cherry slurpee and your blue raspberry against one another.

The guys complain and strictly reiterate to the three of you that it's a bro trip with absolutely no PDA being tolerated, not knowing that the blonde broke that rule first.

♡*･｡ﾟ// THREE (Craig):

It's a night in with the boys, a sleepover where the loser to the video game that they're currently playing has to go out and use Stan's car to buy some late-night snacks for everyone else.

Unfortunately for Craig, the monotonous teen lost when Jimmy played dirty and perfectly timed a harsh shove at the ravenette's shoulder when he was close to crossing the finish line.

You obediently follow him out of the door without being asked to because you always tag along with your two lovers whenever they have any errands to do and vice versa.

He wraps an arm around your shoulder to pull your body close to his in order to press a gentle kiss onto the side of your head, a wordless thank you being conveyed from the kind and loyal gesture.

As much as he wanted to, Kenny couldn't join because he's been on a winning streak, meaning he's not allowed to forfeit his controller until he loses his metaphorical crown.

You rub soothing circles onto the back of his hand, the both of you intertwining your fingers over the center console of the car when you notice him pulling over in the middle of seemingly nowhere.

"I want you, now" is the only explanation you get and you’d be fucking lying if your eyes didn’t seamlessly transition from confusion to clear want at how much this boy makes you feel so damn wanted, anywhere and at anytime.

The authoritative tone he commands you with mixes along beautifully with his deep voice and you haul your body into the backseat of the car as quickly as you can (you would've done anything the ravenette asked you without question, regardless).

"Careful babe, you wouldn't want to get anything on your brother's seats," he mumbles underneath you as his tongue teasingly circles around the entrance of your heat.

As you're riding his face, the teen's larger hands tightly grips onto the skin of your thighs when your phone begins to cut through the charged air of the vehicle with an obnoxious alert that lets you know that you're getting a call.

His cold fingers ground you from your haze-induced pleasure as he lightly drags his fingers along the expanse of skin exposed to him, the silver metal decorating his longer digits eliciting a cacophony of goosebumps along your trembling body.

Ring adorned hands grabs onto the screaming mobile device, Craig smirking as he answers the phone for you without pausing or relenting on his tongue's enthusiastic assault in between your soft thighs.

The boys call to tell you what snacks and drinks that they specifically want from the convenience store, your teeth gritting in frustration as they prolong it by fighting to have their voices heard over the others.

When he teasingly grazes his teeth against your highly sensitive bundle of nerves with a large hand shooting out to lightly grasp at the column of your neck, you can't help the small mewl that escapes from the confines of your mouth at the influx of sensations attacking you at once.

The boys ask if you're okay but you quickly excuse the sound by saying that a raccoon took you both by surprise, your breathy voice a result from running at the sight of the chasing mammal.

You snort when you hear Cartman call Craig a pussy bitch for that, the ravenette harshly sucking to reprimand you for laughing at his expense so you make it up to him by telling the large teen on the other end of the line to quit being defensive over his fursona.

With an already large group like yours, it's already a given that the call will be long with having all of the guys relaying their requests but you can't say anything as you grind against the ravenette's face in retaliation for lowly chuckling at your tortuous predicament.

Don't worry, he'll reward you for not making a suggestive sound throughout the duration of the phone call by fucking you in the sleeping bag that you both share that night (you couldn't help but stare at Clyde's drooling face in pity at his obliviousness to the situation but the sympathy doesn't last for long when a particularly deep thrust forces you to bite onto the material of your pillow to stop your high-pitched whine from coming out of your mouth).

Kenny develops a cute pout on his handsome face the following morning during breakfast when he sees a hickey on your neck that he knows he didn't leave on you when he fucked you himself an hour before the sleepover.

♡*･｡ﾟ// FOUR (Kenny):

During the half-time of one of the boy's football matches, you're granted a quick break as your team doesn't have to perform—it's an away game so the home school's cheerleaders take on the job instead.

Like always, you head to the concession stand to buy some extra gatorades, water bottles, and snacks for the boys (just in case!) for the bus ride back to school when Kenny catches you by the crook of your arm (the blonde has a special talent of finding you anywhere, even within a sea of moving people).

You softly smile at him when he interlocks your hands together as you both talk about the game, your eyebrow quirking up when you notice the detour that the blonde is taking as the halls become more desolate until there's no other person occupying it besides for you two.

You're not surprised when he leads you to a bathroom stall to fuck you in, the football player notorious between your two boyfriends for always enjoying a good quickie (it doesn't matter what time or where, as long as you're involved then he's always hard and ready for some fun).

He's also always more vocal between the two about how much he loves your cheer uniform on you.

The way that the thin fabric hugs your body, further accentuating your curves and the way your short skirt sits perfectly on your ass and thighs is just chef's kiss to him—whenever you wear your cheer uniform, you know that you're getting laid as long as you leave your skirt on when you fuck (as per the blonde's only request when you dress like that).

He especially loves to see you with your hair tied up, your pretty little cheer bow perfectly sitting at the top of your head like a present just for him (how can he resist when you're wrapped up so pretty like that? presents are meant to be opened).

The blonde plants you on his lap as he sits on the cover of the closed toilet seat, his thumb running along the quickly hardening nub of your nipple as his tongue swirls around the twin mound on the other side of your chest.

You can just feel his growing smirk against your skin when the entrance of the restroom opens, the voices of the boy's rapidly filling in the once quiet space as the blonde mischievously chose the male bathroom closest to the locker rooms and field.

You can hear all of your friends and even your damn brother talking to one another, taking the short reprieve from the game to relieve themselves before they're back on the artificial tuft of the field to play.

His legs expertly lift up so that they're not shown before he plants them on the flimsy stall door that provides a barrier between you and the others, one of his larger hands trailing up your face to stick two of his longer fingers into your slightly parted lips.

You understand the nonverbal demand as you begin to suck onto his digits, the blonde physically silencing every gasp and moan that threatens to leak out of your mouth.

His unoccupied hand reaches under your skirt (convenient and beautiful on your body, what's not to like?) so that his fingers can lightly trail against your thighs until goosebumps arise from his cool fingers before they gather the slick steadily pouring out of your heat.

Your body's reaction to his ministrations allows him to seamlessly run along your weeping folds, rubbing circles onto the small bundle of nerves that are desperately screaming for his undivided attention.

His foot will accidentally slip from its purchase on the stall door before quickly resuming its previous position when you lick the shell of his ear and lightly suck at his earlobe, the both of you hearing Cartman's distinctive sneer at the sudden noise: "Ew, was that a fucking rat?!"

When the bathroom finally clears (tears are already leaking from the corner of your eyes, goddammit), the blonde doesn't waste not even a second before he turns your body around to slam the front of it against the stall door, his pants quickly meeting the dirty, tiled floor to mercilessly pound into you from behind.

Another reason he loves when your hair is tied up is because it makes it easier for his slicked lips to attach themselves onto your neck—makes it easier for him to gather all of your hair into one hand so that he can pull on it and dirtily whisper into your ear, every word granting a puff of air that lightly tickles your skin.

When he finishes, he'll release all of his load inside of your tight heat and make you stay filled up for the rest of the game—he'll eat it out of you later, every last drop of it as a reward.

♡*･｡ﾟ// ONE (Kenny + Craig):

You and the boys are situated in varying positions around the backyard, the warm weather calling for an outdoor activity such as a barbecue to enjoy the rare rays of sunshine greeting South Park.

Excusing yourself to the bathroom, you begin to take suggestive pictures to send in your group chat with your two significant others in an attempt to rile them up in a setting where they're powerless to do something about it.

Craig warns you over text, relaying over the phone that he's currently using his plate of food to cover his damn lap at the sight of your body.

It doesn't take long before they relent to your teasing, the digital conversation quickly escalating to dirty talk and filthy promises of later.

You slightly jolt when you hear someone yell from the outside, your form immediately running to where everyone else is gathered on an assortment of plastic chairs or wooden picnic benches.

The first thing you notice is that every single one of the boys are staring at their phones with varying expressions of slightly parted lips, wide eyes, and red faces.

On either end of the spectrum is amusement in the form of loud laughter and smirks or disappointment slightly tinged with disgust (unfortunately, the rest of the boys will always see you as their little sister—even when you grow wrinkly and your hair turns grey at 100 years old. and no sane person wants to hear about their baby sibling’s private life, especially the intimate details).

You're confused until your brother’s screams: "I did not need a detailed description on how you two fucking bastards eat out my FUCKING SISTER!"

When Clyde sent a meme to the group chat containing all of the other guys and you just a few minutes ago, both Craig and Kenny made the amateur mistake of forgetting to switch back to the correct chat log.

The only thing the blonde is able to say before Kyle has to hold back a seething, red-faced Stan is: "Chill, dude. You act like you didn't hear us fucking in the bedroom next to yours last weekend."

"You fucking WHAT?!"

"... I thought you knew? Baby girl was being pretty fucking lou-"

Kenny, unfortunately, didn't get to finish his sentence.

[euphoriajunkie000]

honeysuckle. 02

₊⊹

SFX: CODE : 002 Darling in the Franxx

₊⊹

You desperately wanted to sleep, but your eyelids resisted. The ticking of the mounted clock on your bedroom wall was practically mocking you at this point. Once you tried to close your eyes, the repetitive noises disrupted your train of thought. Boiling with frustration, you finally smacked the pillow over your ears, trying so desperately to muffle the noises but to no avail. After a couple of minutes, you gave in, and decided to stay up just a little longer. Why not? It wasn’t the first time you had to deal with sleepless nights.

As you sat up, carelessly brushing the sheets off of your chest, your eyes were trained on the constellations that littered the sky. They were so very far away, and yet, you outstretched your arm as if to grab ahold of them. You unclasped your hand, and lo and behold, nothing was revealed. Your heart sank. Seriously, what did you think would happen?

You gazed helplessly; you wanted to get closer to the stars—whether if it was one meter or a billion kilometers from the ground—you’d do anything to touch the universe. You wanted to be up close and personal, close enough to drink the moon itself. You were not born to be a watcher. You bit the inside of your cheek and started to think. Suddenly, you grinned at the idea you conjured up. Masamichi would skin you alive if he caught you sneaking out of your dorm and let alone outside of curfew hours. But, maybe if he caught more than one person, he wouldn’t have the energy to skin more than one person now would he? Your devilish smile began to reveal teeth.

As you so gingerly began to peel the rest of your covers off your body, you began to extend your feet towards the ground. The cold, wooden floors sent shivers up your spine; but, you simply couldn't care less. Your heart was beating a million miles an hour as you slowly tiptoed to the door, vigilant as to not make a wrong move and bring upon a wretched creak. You opened your door to reveal the dim lights that lit the corridor; and, you so decidedly made your way to one of your most beloved friend’s room. Double checking the name displayed next to his door, you inhaled sharply and entered.

You rolled your eyes as you finally got a closer look at your friend. The spring breeze from his opened window not only blew the transparent curtains framing the glass, but it tousled his hair gently. Half of his sheets lay neglected on the floor while the other half weren’t even covering his body. You huffed out a silent laugh; the way his limbs were spread took the term ‘starfish’ to shame. Drool had started to dry at the corner of his lips and his eyes were screwed shut. He looked just as content as they came. And, you couldn’t help yourself from smiling. The pads of your hand softly touched the side of his cheek. And suddenly, he groggily opened his eyes. 

“Hanahaki?” he croaked.

“Hey, yourself, Gojo,” you said as your expression softened.

You saw Gojo rub his eyes, just to make sure he was fully understanding the scene that unfolded in front of him. You sat on the edge of his bed while leaning dangerously close to his lips, just a few inches. And with no shame, Gojo wanted to close that gap between the two of you. With your thumb gently brushing his cheek, his breath hitched. In your entire friendship, he had never seen you act so… intimate with him—or even gentle, always preferring crude remarks that invoked his laugh. He could have sworn that this was a hallucination. But, you looked too real, too ethereal for this to only be an illusion.

“Am I dreaming…?” Gojo wondered. He felt as though he was locked in a haze; but even so, he wouldn’t mind staying if it meant seeing your face for longer.

“What?” you answered.

“I mean, I’ve always envisioned this happening between us. But, I never fully expected it to happen.”

“What are you talking about, Gojo? And, yes,” you smiled while looking visually confused, “I am very real.” Though, your look of uncertainty melted into a genuine smile.

Gojo widened his eyes; and for a moment, he choked on air. A coughing fit ensued and he fell face first onto the ground. Your heart skipped a beat and you whipped your head to the closed door; just gazing at the trail of lights at the bottom that emitted from the outside. You prayed to see the lack of shadows move across the corridor. Your teacher would kill you if he saw you in the room with the opposite gender. 

You cursed, “How do those splinter taste, you fucking idiot?”

‘And she’s back…’ Gojo dejectedly thought. “Actually, they taste amazing, why don’t you have a try, huh?” he hissed quietly.

Without hesitation, he pulled your hand and you too landed face first on the floor. “Ow!” you groaned. You turned your head to face Gojo who was staring back at you. Both of your cheeks were cooled by the floor. “Do you know you’ve ruined the skincare that was absorbing into my skin?”

“Yeah, well,” Gojo started to say, “Now you know what it feels like because you’ve just ruined mine!”

You grinned at your blue-eyed friend. Still the same old Gojo. As the two of you readjusted onto his bed, you were both sitting down comfortably while facing each other. You played with the hem of your flowing T-shirt. “I wanna go stargazing tonight,” you said, your voice so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

“Stargazing?” Gojo repeated.

“Yeah,” you grinned. “I’m sure your beloved teacher, Masamichi, wouldn’t mind. You’re his favorite student, right?”

Gojo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I guess you are right, I am actually his star pupil,” he bragged.

“All the more reasons we should go since you’re our safety net,” you confirmed.

“Where would you want to go?”

You paused, searching for a certain location in the back of your brain. “I think… I know a place…” you said hesitantly.

“Can you fly us there?” Gojo asked.

“What? Why do I have to get us there?”

“Because, you’re the one who is so insistent we go there. It’s like a date, Hanahaki. Normally, whoever initiates the date first most likely pays,” Gojo cheekily said.

“Well, I am so glad that I won’t be going on any dates with you sometime soon, huh?” you shot back. You groaned, “Do I have to fly? My feathers make a mess…”

“Yeah,” Gojo agreed. “But think of it this way, it has been a long time since you’ve stretched them out. And plus, you know you only feel free once you are flying yourself. You told me this, remember?”

A champagne pink bled across the bridge of your nose. “You remember? I’ve only told you that once?”

“Well yeah!” your friend smiled bashfully. “Of course I remember, why wouldn’t I? I like listening to you. And uhm.” He paused for a second, almost as if he was preparing to say something more vulnerable. “I also think you– I mean your wings look pretty.”

“Pretty?” you questioned verbatim.

“Divine, even,” Gojo corrected.

You let a faux groan escape your lips. “Fine,” you drawled. “Let’s go fly.”

₊⊹

As the two of you crawled out of Gojo’s bedroom window, your bare feet landed on the grass that encapsulated the whole field. Unbeknownst to your friend, however, he couldn’t see that you were struggling to cut the openings necessary to spread your wings. “Hey, Gojo,” you started to say. “Do you think you could rip my clothes for me…?”

Uhm. What? There was no way in hell you didn’t know what you were doing. Gojo’s face turned beet red and he was suddenly thanking the blacked out lamp posts that Masamichi had refused to pay electricity for. It used to be a nuisance, but now, it was a blessing in disguise. “Uhm… What?” Gojo reiterated.

Now your face was beet red. “For my wings! Gojo!” you hissed out of embarrassment.

“R-Right!” Gojo wanted to kick himself in the face. The Great Gojo himself wouldn’t yield to anyone; and yet, why were you making him so dangerously weak in the knees? As he approached the back of your baggy t-shirt, he could feel his mouth getting dry. Although his heart was thumping at a deathly rate, half hoping you wouldn’t sense how utterly nervous you made him feel, he ripped two identical slits. His fingers grazed the divet of where your shoulder blades met your spine. God, even your scent was intoxicating. You smelled of pure, sweet honeysuckle and it took every bone in his body not to press his lips against the nape of your neck. His head became clouded and he couldn’t think straight. It was most likely the reason why he was so careless as he let his fingers brush your bare skin. You shivered and gasped softly. What is happening to you?

You gently cleared your throat and whispered a quick thanks to your friend. Then, you inhaled and began to focus. About where Gojo had torn those two slits, the muscles of your back began to tense up and a roaring buzz began to intensify. You felt something tearing its way from the flesh of your back. A soft glow illuminated from where your wings emerged from your back and Gojo stared. It took his breath away, your charcoal black wings. You looked too heavenly to even exist in this world where curses rampaged; you were a beacon of light in the dark.

“Gojo? Is there something wrong? Why are you staring at me?”

“It’s nothing!” Gojo said frantically, although it sounded like he was reassuring himself rather than you. “Nothing…”

As you swallowed the lump down your throat, you finally turned around to face Gojo. God, you hated how pretty he was. Wisps of his snow white hair brushed against his cheeks while his long eyelashes framed his electrically blue eyes perfectly. His tall stature leaned over you and you couldn’t help but look up, doing anything you can in your power to gaze into his eyes some more. Hell, you could have sworn that they even glowed at night. You felt your face getting hot and you looked away. “You know how to hold onto me? You know, for when I’m the one flying.”

“Hmm,” Gojo pondered for a second, but then his expression melted into a sly smile, “I think you’ll have to teach me again.”

Your eyebrow twitched with annoyance. “Again?” you hissed. “Gojo, I literally taught you this since you were five!”

Gojo in return shrugged hopelessly and in a sing songy voice he said, “Well, you always tell me that I have the brain of a five year old so-”

“Fine,” you sighed while drawing out your words. “I’ll teach you, again.”

“Yippee!” Gojo danced. However, unbeknownst to you, Gojo didn’t need to hear your script again. He had heard you say the same instructions over and over again, every time he wanted you to fly with him. It had gotten to the point that he would bet one of his kidneys that he could recite your whole spiel perfectly, word for word and breath for breath. But, he didn’t mind it, not even a little bit. He liked listening to your voice, and plus, there was one phrase that he wanted to hear one more time. One phrase that made him fold in an instant.

“Alright,” you started to say. You positioned yourself behind your friend. Due to the difference in height—with Gojo being significantly taller than you—he crouched. “I start by intertwining my hands with yours,” you instructed, and he did just that without any hesitancy. Your right hand was interlaced with Gojo’s right hand and your left hand was interlaced with Gojo’s left hand. You rested your chin on his shoulder; lips dangerously close to his ear. He could feel the faded puffs of air that escaped your mouth and the goosebumps of his skin raised. 

“Hold my hand tight,” you hummed. 

And, Gojo could have sworn that his heart beat faster.

“And then…”

You could feel your legs starting to tense.

“We jump!”

Suddenly, you released. Your legs propelled both you and Gojo into the air and your wings extended, the raven color blending in the night. The wind stung both you and Gojo’s cheeks while your hair was so carelessly blown in all sorts of directions. You felt your friend's hand grip tighter around yours and you murmured, “Extend your legs, and start walking for me.” He obeyed. “That’s it!” you grinned. “It’s like we are dancing!”

And at the sound of your last word, Gojo’s ears perked up. He had heard that phrase a multitude of times, more times than he could count on his hands. But, even so, he wouldn’t mind hearing you say it—to him—again and again and again. 

As the two of you slowly flew to the glimmering lights that belonged to Tokyo, he couldn’t help but look down. Although he had looked at the city lights below his feet so many times, it didn’t bother him how mundane it seemed. It felt special, because he was spending it with you. 

Unbeknownst to you, however, the skyscrapers weren’t the only thing that caught his eye: it was you. Your angelic wings were too lovely to be even real. As your eyes glittered with a genuine smile to match, both the rhythms of yours and Gojo’s hearts began to beat like one. Gojo stared at you with wonder pooling in his eyes. You looked like a dream. How did he get so lucky meeting you? 

“There!” you whispered in his ear. “Let’s land there.” You pointed at the highest skyscraper that overlooked the entire city. As you let go of Gojo’s left hand, you slowly dropped him off, letting his bare feet flush against the cool cement. And as you looked at the scenery that unfolded in front of you, it was a shame that you couldn’t feel the eyes of Gojo that lingered on your face.

₊⊹

As you stood side by side next to Gojo, you looked upon the unwavering skyscrapers beneath you. You breathed, it had been such a long time since you’ve gotten out of your stuffy bedroom. You hated how enclosed the walls were. You hated how the texture of the splintery wood felt against your skin. You hated the mirror and the reflection that stared back at you. You hated the stupid, disregarded, superficial love confessions that began to pile up in that dreaded shoebox. And, most notably, you hated how you couldn’t see the stars.

But here, it was a completely different perspective. The lights that illuminated the sky were emitted by the traffic below; you name it all: cars, taxis, bikes. Everyone had someplace to be, always looking to see what came next with swirling thoughts that preoccupied their entire mind. Some were looking down, glued to their phone screens while others held their devices against their ears. They were in their own individual bubble, waiting for the next boring task to come. You wished you were like them: normal. You didn’t like the life you were living. It was the same vicious cycle everyday: eating, training, and sleeping. You wanted out. But you were good at what you did—that is, eradicating curses. It was irrefutable. So, you swallowed the pit in your throat and pretended that you were okay. If you could fight for the people around you just so they could live their unsuspecting lives, that should be enough for you. Because if you can’t have a normal life, why should you restrain others from attaining the thing you’ve longed for? But it wasn’t enough; it never was. You just wanted to be normal and you will continue to long for it as long as your flesh retains its color.

You gazed upon the dim stars above. Gojo was watching as well, but not at the night sky. He was looking at something more important and alluring, something that even rivaled the planets above. He was looking at you. You felt his eyes tracing your collarbones, then your neck, your perfectly plush lips, and then to your eyes. You tore your vision away from the scenery and now you were gazing into his vibrant eyes once more. 

You hummed, “Why are you staring at me again…” Albeit, it sounded more of an accusation than a question.

“Because, I’m trying to think of a name for you,” Gojo grinned.

“A name?” you echoed.

“Well yeah, I’m pretty good at naming people.”

You gave him a short, courtesy filled laugh in order to disguise your bitterness, “Well, I’m fine with just Absolute Zero.”

“Doesn’t it feel boring just going by your code name?”

You narrowed your eyes and it took Gojo aback. He had never seen such sadness ebb and flow within your face. As a response, your hand gripped the railing that enclosed the sides of the rooftop. You hoisted yourself up and your feet pattered along the narrow aisle that jutted out of the side of the skyscraper the two of you were occupying. You held out your arms, carefully balancing yourself and walking away from Gojo, and closer to open air. You looked down. The path you were balancing on was getting thinner and thinner, consequently revealing more of the oncoming traffic that softly illuminated your face.

“Careful!” Gojo yelled.

But, instead, you ignored his heed and began walking further away and Gojo fearfully chewed the inside of his cheek at your retreating figure. “Look at it all,” you spat. “An isolated wasteland filled with nothing but mindless people. They contribute everything they worked for only to become a statistic once they perish. It won’t matter what name we hold.” You bit the flesh of your bottom lip and sighed. “There are no oceans or bright stars. Look,” you commanded as you pointed at the stars. “They are all muted. They weren’t nearly this desolate back then.”

As quickly as confusion had arisen across Gojo’s face, it was dismissed just as fast. “Hanahaki! Come back! If you fall I am not going to help you!”

“But you’ll catch me? Won’t you?”

You turned around, still dancing on the aisle with your feet, throwing caution to the wind, not caring if you fell or not. You smiled at Gojo. But, it wasn’t just any ordinary smile. In the years that Gojo had been watching you, he had never seen you gaze upon him in such a specific way. He hated how it made his heart pound harder and harder with every passing second. It left such a sharp, yet sweet taste in his mouth. And he didn’t care how he was surrendering to you, not even a little bit.

You looked beautiful. Not only were you giving all of your attention to him, but you were looking at him—not Shoko, and most importantly not Geto—with such pure love. You were looking only at him. With your upturned eyebrows and your sad smile showing concern to your eyelashes that fluttered delicately everytime you blinked and your silk-like hair that swayed in the wind, he couldn’t look away. He was in too deep, and you trapped him.

“Hey Gojo,” you started to say. “Do you really think friendships can last forever? Even when our bones are grinded into stardust and when the sun finally burns out into oblivion… will we still be together?”

Gojo’s breath hitched. He didn’t know what to say, this question from you seemed so… unlike you. But before you could hear his response, your feet that had once carelessly danced on the aisle that jutted out the side of the infrastructure had lost balance. And, you fell. Gojo had enunciated his honest response; it was such a shame that he didn’t say it louder because you couldn’t hear a single thing that came out of his moving lips. But once he saw you free falling in mid air he ran to the edge and looked down. And there, he saw your wings that saved you. You looked at him with a cheeky grin on your face. Then, you flew up to meet Gojo face to face once again.

“I want you to hold me tight,” you pleaded delicately. “I want you to hold me tight, and don’t let go.” That was the final sentence until you gripped the railing once again and rested your cheek on the palm of your hand to look at Gojo again. “Just… kidding…” you breathed, more quiet than a whisper.

Word count: 3485

[sillyfanatic]

Dreams and realities

This is part 2 of Touch Starved, so please go read that if you haven’t already!!

CW: This fic is very much like its predecessor! There is swearing, mentions of unreality, and detailed talk of bad mental health. It’s also just generally more mature than what I usually write, so please read at your own discretion!

That being said, this was so so fun to write and I was giggling and kicking my feet as I wrote it,, the fluff is so. EEE you’ll have to read it to find out :3

click here to read it on ao3!

(wc; 3880)

-

Life had only gone downhill since the dream.

Or, well, dreams, as it was now.

The strange subconscious experience Shadow had encountered turned out not to be a one-time thing. What could have easily been dismissed as a fluke, or even a fever-induced hallucination – if one disregarded the fact that Shadow was incapable of developing such a fever – came back.

In fact, it seemed to happen almost every night now, or more specifically, every night the agent chose to sleep. It was as if Shadow was being infected, like he had caught some sort of persistent parasite, hell-bent on ruining any and every hour of rest.

He could not rid himself of this literal nightmare – evenings and nights had begun to blur together, exhaustion relentlessly clawing at the agent’s sore body. When he’d given up and surrendered himself to it, the dreams would so easily take hold him, and Shadow would find himself abruptly awakened, crumpled bedsheets sticking to his tussled fur.

Mornings were now dedicated to the feeling of panic that choked him; its claws wrapped tightly around his throat. It sped his heart and drowned his mind, and when it was done, it left him empty. Alone, desperately chasing a fantasy that had vanished the moment he’d woken up.

It was cruel, and it was beginning to feel familiar.

And Shadow could not help but wonder why?

The first dream had served as a message, a realization that he’d fallen for someone he shouldn’t have- so then, what purpose did these dreams have, now? He’d already learnt his lesson. Did they seek to plunge him into a love-ridden madness? Were they some sort of sick self-torture, some trick orchestrated by his heavily scarred mind?

Hadn’t he been tormented enough?

Whether it was the people that surrounded him, whether it was the gods or even the universe itself, someone was playing a trick on him. Something was laughing at him, content in plucking away every last sense of control and stability he’d so desperately clung to. It rendered him a pathetic, yearning mess, an echo of a person he once was.

But that wasn’t the real problem; of course it wasn’t.

Shadow could suffer through the repetitive dreams, the sickeningly sweet fantasies, and all the delusions his heart so desperately preached. He could even withstand the foreign emotions that plagued him, much too content in pushing them down, deep enough to put on a calm façade.

What he could never control, what still roamed around causing an ever-growing number of problems, was the other. It was Sonic. It was always him, and it seemed as though it would always be.

“Hi, handsome.” The voice was soothing, involuntarily invoking a fuzziness in Shadow’s stomach – the feeling was still so foreign, so new. It felt like a knife to the gut, and yet a stabbing was something the agent was much more familiar with. Flesh wounds were easier to heal. These things? Not so much.

Shadow deemed it unnecessary to respond, simply tilting his head towards the approaching hero, quietly observing the other’s movements.

Until now, the park had been blissfully empty. Shadow had appreciated the comfort that had accompanied his solitude, choosing to lean against an old oak tree as he silently observed the city. From afar, it glowed quietly.

Here, even if it was momentary, he had felt safe. Here, he was away, away from the bright lights, from the never-ending noise, from strangers and friends, but most importantly; it had felt like he’d been away from his mind, too.

The noise, it seemed, had found its way to him.

“Not too mouthy today, huh?” Sonic teased, hastily slotting himself besides Shadow. He wore a large purple coat, the loud colour only slightly interrupted by deep greens and hot pinks. It was slightly too big for him, and certainly a decade or two older than him. It contrasted oddly with the simple leather jacket Shadow had picked for himself, an old one that fit him rather well. It kept him warm, at least, like it was meant to do.

The dark hedgehog reared his gaze forwards, eyes steadily gazing upon the horizon. “It’s late.” He remarked, not bothered to answer any of Sonic’s quips. “You should be asleep.” His book scuffed the dirt bellow him, lazily scuffing the yellowed grass.

The response was immediate, like it always was. “You know I sleep whenever.” This, Shadow could not deny, Sonic’s sleep schedule was almost as fucked as his, if not more. “Besides, you’re one to talk. Why aren’t you asleep.” Sonic regurgitated the question, much to his annoyance. Before he had time to roll his eyes, however, Sonic continued; “And don’t say some obvious bullshit like ‘I don’t need sleep’ because we both know you do.”

Shadow huffed at the comment, turning briefly to observe his friend, only to find that Sonic’s gaze had never quite left his. The agent opened his mouth to say something, but found his tongue to be rather heavy, and so he closed the opening, feeling a warm blush tainting the surface of his cheeks. “I can’t sleep.” He blurted after a minute or so, unable to stop himself underneath the other’s piercing gaze.

The words had tumbled out of his mouth with a surprising ease, a simple confession that would’ve taken much more time to squeeze out of him, should anyone else have asked.

But it wasn’t anyone else. It was Sonic, Sonic and his stupid smug grin, Sonic and his talent for rendering his companion a flustered mess. He had been the one to question, and that was apparently all it took for Shadow to confess.

The blue hedgehog was smiling coyly, his features softly illuminated by the distant glow of the city, and by the soft light of the moon that bloomed above them. The sight pleased Shadow’s gaze too much, and so the agent pulled it away, trying to focus on something else. Anything was better than Sonic’s soft features, than his vibrant emerald eyes.

“And why is that?” He heard the other question.

“Don’t know” He responded simply, trying desperately to avoid the subject. It would not take much for him to tell the truth, and yet the last thing Shadow wished to do was to reveal what truly troubled his sleep. The longer he could avoid it all, the better.

“Mm.” Sonic responded, his jacket rustling in an unpleasant sound against the bark of the tree. They suddenly found themselves much closer with this movement, their clothed shoulders bumping together, tips of their gloved fingers mere inches from one another.

Shadow felt his arm burn with the sudden touch, his body unconsciously leaning in, trying to savour as much of the fleeting feeling as possible.

This felt too familiar, too casual, too coincidental.

“Is this a dream?” He blurted rapidly, the words like an unfinished thought that dangled from his lips. They were better left inside of his head, and yet there they were, hanging awkwardly in the air as he mulled over his own stupidity.

Had he strayed so far from sanity that he now struggled in discerning reality? How pathetic.

The silence did not last more than a few moments, and yet it weighed heavily upon the agent, every new second stretching uncomfortably.

“Why would you say something like that?” Sonic naturally questioned, but his tone wasn’t mocking, or judgmental; it was kind and concerned, like it always was. It was loving and caring, and fuck, Shadow did not know how much more of this he’d be able to take.

The dark hedgehog’s gaze was practically glued to the sight before them, to the city and the sky above. He gazed upon the barely visible stars as though they could impart their wisdom. And softly, he thought; if the stars could speak, they would surely mock him.

“Don’t know.” He responded again, brows furrowing in anger, a frustration he only felt towards himself. It would surely be replaced by shame, he figured.

He was losing control. Again.

He was slipping, his façade was crumbling, and it had only been ten minutes.

Sonic shifted again, the back of his gloved hand grazing Shadow’s. The touch did not go unnoticed – how could it? How could ever find it in himself to ignore it, when it burnt so hot, searing his skin and sending his mind down a dangerous path, one he could not return from.

“You seem to not know a lot of stuff tonight.” The other remarked, his tone light and teasing. Shadow could practically hear the smile in his voice, but he could not bring himself to look. Why did this seam to easy for Sonic, when it was practically destroying Shadow? “Funny, I’d pinned you for a pretty smart guy.”

The compliment sent the agent’s heart rate to the moon, the soft spoken words echoing in his mind for several moments, until he’d memorized them perfectly. The familiar accent of a friend, the inclination and expression pushed so carefully into simple words.

Was this really all it took? A basic compliment, disguised as an insult?

Pathetic.

The word made its way to his mind, obscuring the others.

How sickly did you have to be, how desperate, how lonely, to end up like this? To be frozen solid at the slightest touched, plagued with a yearning that did not cease, that only increased as time flew by?

Fucking pathetic.

It was like an itch in his head and he could not scratch it. It drove him insane.

Shadow moved abruptly, unable to stay still for any longer. He stepped away from the oak tree in a flurry of black fur and dark leather, distancing himself from Sonic. They were only apart a foot or two now, and yet it felt too distant, too empty. The agent tried to still his breath in this new separation, attempting to rid his body of the weightlessness that lingered.

But he could not stop his eyes from observing, could never stop his mind from thinking. Chaos, how Sonic looked perfect like this. The odd lighting of the distant city gave his fur a warm glow unlike any other, something Shadow had never had the privilege to witness before.

The ill-fitting jacket was somehow so him, and his quills were slightly ruffled and tilted upwards from his position against the tree. He oozed a certain calmness, body language a reflection of his perpetually calm state.

It wasn’t fair.

“Shadow?..” The hero questioned, slightly startled by the sudden shift in their dynamic. He stayed still for a moment, his demeanor remaining too casual, somehow relaxed as if Shadow’s entire world wasn’t crumbling to dust, struggling to stay stable at the mere sight of the blue hedgehog before him. The hedgehog, who seemed to be made of smooth lines, lean muscle, and a never-ending grin.

“Stop.” Shadow spoke, his voice shaky. Sonic did not understand – how could he? – tilting his head in an inquisitive manner. The agent cursed himself for finding the mannerism so endearing, his stomach flipping in excitement and shame. A now familiar feeling, it seemed.

“What? Stop what?” Sonic feigned innocence, or perhaps he just was innocent. Perhaps he stood there, simply unaware of the effects he had on the other, unaware of how his deliberate touches have driven Shadow to a madness, a madness so different from the rest that it nearly broke him.

But then again, maybe he knew. Maybe that’s why that smile had never quite left his features, maybe it’s why his body language was so at ease, and maybe it was why Sonic looked so undisturbed, like he always did.

Shadow was over-analyzing; he knew he was. He was panicking too, but that much was obvious.

Slowly, the hero pushed himself off of the tree, approaching his friend. One step was enough to render them too close for comfort – but Shadow did not back away. He could not do it, could do nothing but observe the scene that unfolded before him.

Powerless.

He could not bring himself to look away as Sonic hesitantly stepped closer.

How had he come to be like this? How had he never realized?

There was a heavy silence that hung above them, thick like the fog on an autumn morning. It was the only thing that served to keep their bodies apart, separating them, neither of the two willing to close the small gap, to breach that layer of privacy. It’s not like they hadn’t done it before, and yet, this was… different. There was a stillness in the air that they did not dare to break, heads filled with questions none knew the answer to.

Shadow could feel a headache forming, as though his unspoken confessions had grown too heavy for his mind to bear. He felt so out of himself and yet so heavy, the contrasting emotions mixing into a general unease that overwhelmed his senses.

Go ahead. Tell him, you coward.

A voice spoke in his mind, and it was the last droplet that made the glass overflow. The dark hedgehog broke his silence, unable to make sense of anything anymore. “I can’t sleep because of you.” The words were spoken like an accusation, accompanied by a shaky breath and an unsteady heartbeat, one that was almost loud enough to hear. Emotion laced his words, creating a certain vulnerability that rendered him uncomfortable.

He could have held his tongue, he could have walked away, left it all behind-

…Could he?

It didn’t matter if he could or not. It was too late; the words had been spoken and he’d chosen to stay.

“Really, huh?” Sonic started, but the dark hedgehog did not let him finish.

Quickly, and with the efficiency of someone who’s been trained in combat since birth, Shadow had his right hand clamped firmly over the other’s mouth, taking his left hand to the hero’s chest. Before he could consider anything, before his mind could stop him, Shadow roughly shoved Sonic backwards, pushing his body against the oak tree they’d just barely left.

Sonic’s back collided harshly with the wood, the blue hedgehog wincing beneath Shadow’s hold. His eyes were half-lidded at the impact he suffered, his head tilting backwards ever-so-slightly as his chest pressed against Shadow.

He was effectively pinned against the rough bark, and the hands that touched him did so firmly, indirectly informing him that there was no escape, that there was only here and now, for as long as Shadow deemed it to be.

But that was not a revelation. And this was not the first time the hero found himself at the aggressive mercy of his companion. Sonic was used to this, in fact, he knew this, even went as far as to like this.

The only touches Shadow had ever offered came harshly – they were never gentle. Old habits died hard, one could suppose.

It was then that something snapped within the agent’s mind – perhaps it was simply reality catching up to him, or perhaps it was something else. His eyes blew open so suddenly, their ruby irises frantic, searching every feature of the other’s face.

What was he doing?

Control yourself.

He’d gone too far.

Quickly, as though Sonic’s skin burnt him, he removed his hands from the other’s body, hastily lowering them, holding them stiffly to his sides. The muscles in his body tensed and tightened, and the fire that burnt in his core raged hungrily as he struggled to tether himself to common sense.

What had he become?

He’d finally lost it. He was starting to act from impulse, from instinct, from anything but logic. He wasn’t controlling himself; he should always control himself. Shadow stood frozen once again, so close to the other, and yet not daring to touch him again. He was afraid, afraid of himself and of what he might do if he slipped again.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He managed to apologize, the words tasting sour on his tongue. He wasn’t sure if he believed the sincerity of his own apology – he wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

Sonic’s hands remained clasped behind his back. His quills were slightly more dishevelled than they’d been earlier, and his fur was ruffled wherever the harsh touches had lingered. And yet, despite it all, the hero’s body relaxed, speaking entirely of ease – it was too nonchalant, as if he hadn’t just been thrown against a tree.

“It’s fine.” He reassures, lazily shrugging his shoulders.

Shadow’s bros furrowed as he observed the man before him. Had he hit Sonic hard enough to give him a concussion? It would certainly explain the odd casualness of the other’s demeaner. No, it wasn’t possible – he’d seen Sonic take worst beatings (mostly of his own hands) and walk away just fine. So why then, was the hero not behaving just as oddly as him?

Silence sat between the two and they simply observed each other.

Shadow cursed himself, ashamed of his behaviour, ashamed of the effect the other had on him. How simple it was, to get him to lose control. How effortless it seemed for Sonic, who barely had to lift a pinkie to make Shadow into a flustered, uncontrollable mess.

“So, you dream of me, hm?” Sonic spoke, and it was like a soft melody, the words rolling off his tongue teasingly. Shadow felt his heart plummet, a cold chill crawling up the length of his spine.

“What?” He questioned abruptly, taken aback by the sudden question.

How did he…?

“Well, you mentioned not being able to sleep, and then you mentioned me. That doesn’t leave much room for interpretation, does it?” The words were driving Shadow insane, a familiar sense pof anxiety now spreading itself throughout his body. His felt his cheeks darken in embarrassment, the tips of his ears reddening too.

But that wasn’t enough, of course it wasn’t.

The cobalt hedgehog shifted, lightly pushing himself off the tree he’d just been pinned against. His hands came up with him, gently placing themselves upon Shadow’s sides. The hero’s fingers slid beneath leather, trudging through soft black fur, only to lodge themselves firmly onto the agent’s hips, hungrily digging into the soft flesh beneath them. It was almost as if Sonic anchored himself here, silently holding on as if the agent would crumble if he let go. Perhaps he would.

Shadow bit his cheek firmly, almost unable to muffle the gasp lodged inside his throat. The action drew blood, the metallic taste coating the insides of his mouth.

The touch was delicate, almost subtle, but it burnt a hole through him, like it always did.

It sent sparks down his veins, and it clouded his brain. It rendered him speechless, like it always did. And no one made Shadow speechless – no one, apart from Sonic, it seemed.

The hero chuckled at the other’s expense, and the warm sound went straight to Shadow’s stomach. “Mm, what kind of dreams have you been having, Special Agent?” The voice was sultry, the nickname annoying, and it could not have been more Sonic. Shadow barely felt alive anymore, almost trembling in the other’s grasp, his body weightless, his mind a wasteland of half-finished sentences.

“Stop.” Shadow managed to whisper, not a warning for Sonic, but for himself. He didn’t want it to stop, no, he wanted it to continue far more than this – that’s what terrified him.

He continued in his struggle to grasp onto reality – this felt so very much like the dreams did, and fuck, Shadow couldn’t recall the last time they’d been alone. Sonic threw his head back now, laughing, unashamed, or perhaps unconcerned with the effects he was having on the other.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know?” The azure hedgehog spoke lowly when his laugh had finally faded enough to allow him speech again. His eyes were piercing in their incessant gaze, and Shadow keened under the attention, unable to look away.

The agent could feel his head swimming with unanswered questions, with unattainable dreams and a yearning so powerful he could almost drown in it.

“And you’re a dick.” He managed to reply, too easily slipping into old manners. This did nothing but amuse Sonic.

“Not the first time you’ve called me that.” He spoke matter-of-factly, reminiscent of a past they so recently shard. “Thought we were friends now.” He tilted his head, most likely aware of the shiver that crept up Shadow’s spine at the endearing gesture. “Friends don’t call each other ‘dick’.”

“Friends don’t do this, either.” Shadow noted, wanting to bring his hands up to gesture at the distance between them. He couldn’t. And so, he stayed still, unable to ignore the fact that his lips were so close to the other’s it almost fucking hurt.

“Hm, guess not.” Sonic still smiled, and Shadow was sure he looked like a deer in headlights, unable to blink or move. The grip on his hips tightened, causing his heart to sore, his chest light and airy, struggling to breathe properly.

“So, what are we, then?” The agent boldly questioned, unable to hold his tongue. His voice was broken, his heart rate rapidly increasing, bound to slip out of control very soon. And Sonic, the asshole he was, could not grinning.

Their faces were mere inches from each other now, their warm breaths forming fuzzy little clouds in the frozen midnight air.

“Guess we’ll have to find out” The hero nonchalantly responded, and Shadow wanted to slap him.

His mouth opened to protest, to question, to yell, so say anything, but before he was able to make a sound, Sonic swooped down, placing his lips upon the other’s, connecting them in a hasty kiss. Caught off guard, shadow let a soft yelp escape him, the sound quickly lost within the contact.

Sonic’s lips were on his, and Shadow swore he had finally died.

No – it was the opposite; he was very much alive. More alive than he’d been in years.

Sonic tasted like mouthwash, and it was acidic and cooling against his tongue. Shadow was sure all the other could taste was iron, the small wound in his mouth dispersing the strange taste into their kiss.

The agent felt his eyes close shut, felt all sense or logic completely leave his body as he went limp, forgetting everything he’d ever known. The only thing he could breathe, see, and feel, was Sonic.

It was desperate and needy, every stroke of their tongues laced with spit and unspoken emotions, and the agent could not stop himself from attempting to deepen it.

They worked stupidly well together, and it was as if every small movement was anticipated by the other, every small shift anticipated and easily followed.

Shadow’s hands found themselves to be moving now, crawling up to hold Sonic’s sides, to dig into his flesh as they separated for a breath. The agent could not help himself in uttering a soft gasp as the other took him in again.

There was no gentleness to be held between them anymore, no restraint. They poured their hearts, their frustration, their every being into this kiss – they were incapable of stopping it, of stopping themselves.

Shadow had known he was too far gone, but now, he was just really, really, fucked.

-

A/N

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee please tell me your every thought on tbhis!! and let me know if i missed any warning or if i made any grammatical errors because i did not really read it through for once,,

im gonna start a nw job tomorrow :0 between that and everything going on in my goofy little brain, ill have less time to write! its alright though because im leaving you guys with this <333

As always, likes reblogs and comments are super appreciated! My messages and ask box or open to positive critism, so please comme gently yell at me if you feel inclined to do so!!!

[rivyuus]

Elliott Smith - Drive All Over Town (Song Review)

Elliott Smith's "Drive All Over Town," from his debut album Roman Candle, serves as an exquisite example of his haunting lyrical style and intricate emotional landscape. Released in 1994, the album, like this song, is largely characterized by its lo-fi production and intimate vocal delivery. The song encapsulates themes of longing, confusion, and emotional turmoil, reflecting the complexities of love and the human condition.

Musical Composition

The musical composition of "Drive All Over Town" aligns beautifully with Smith's signature sound—acoustic guitar-driven melodies that feature intricate fingerpicking patterns layered with understated yet emotive vocals. The arrangement feels sparse yet deeply resonant, allowing the listener to immerse themselves fully in the emotional weight of the music. The juxtaposition of simplicity in instrumentation and complexity in emotional content is a hallmark of Smith’s style; he often generates a rich, immersive atmosphere from minimalistic arrangements.

The song begins with a muted, melancholic guitar riff that glides seamlessly between the verses. This establishes an introspective mood right from the start. As the song progresses, layering of guitar lines adds depth, creating a subtle but palpable tension. The pacing is deliberate, allowing the listener to savor each moment, while invoking the sense of a contemplative journey—one that mirrors the protagonist’s own drive through town.

Lyrical Analysis

Lyrically, "Drive All Over Town" paints a vivid picture of a troubled relationship. The imagery Smith employs is powerful and evocative, addressing themes of regret, nostalgia, and a restless search for connection. Each line serves to deepen the listener's understanding of the protagonist's internal struggles and emotional landscape.

The opening lines introduce us to a scene that is both intimately personal and highly relatable—two-dollar photo booth images, emblematic of fleeting moments captured yet seemingly neglected, hint at the transient nature of relationships. These photographs, described as "dirty" and "stepped-on," symbolize the protagonist's memories of love, marked by imperfections and the passage of time. The setting in the “half-light” serves as a metaphor for uncertainty, suggesting that emotions and relationships are often not as clear-cut as one might desire.

Smith’s character study of the man in this relationship is particularly poignant. He appears to be grappling with feelings of inadequacy, as indicated by the phrase “He looks all wrong, but that's her alright.” This line conveys the idea of flawed love—how sometimes we become attached to people who might be imperfect for us, yet we embrace that imperfection. The image of a smile, “full of teeth clenched tight,” further reflects the tension between happiness and underlying anxiety.

The Narrator's Journey

In the narrative progression, Smith captures the cyclical nature of longing and disappointment. The introduction of the army captain—someone who presumably represents a significant moment or choice—serves as a catalyst for reflection. The protagonist feels the weight of the past, a recollection of experiences that inform his present discontent. The line featuring the phrase “it’s okay, I knew exactly what you meant” illustrates a complex emotional exchange between the individuals—one imbued with understanding yet tinged with sorrow. The mention of being an "accident" connects to feelings of guilt and unintended consequences in relationships, resonating deeply on a psychological level.

As the protagonist drives around town in search of his lost love, this act serves as both a literal and metaphorical journey. The repetitive refrain—“he'll drive all over town”—gives a sense of desperation and determination. It speaks to the lengths people may go to in order to reconnect or find closure. Each drive represents hope mingling with despair, evoking a sense of urgency and restlessness.

Thematic Resonance

Thematically, "Drive All Over Town" reflects on the nature of love and the human propensity for attachment, even in the face of uncertainty and pain. Smith's exploration of these themes resonates across the spectrum of human relationships, from romantic entanglements to friend dynamics. The repetitive nature of the protagonist’s search can be interpreted as a metaphor for the human condition itself—the incessant quest for understanding, closure, and validation.

Moreover, the song deftly navigates a somber emotional terrain. Smith's delivery—soft yet earnest—captures a sense of vulnerability that draws listeners into his world. The subtle inflections in his voice suggest an emotional truth that transcends mere storytelling; it becomes a shared experience of longing, loss, and the innate desire to reconnect, even when circumstances are stacked against us.

Conclusion

In conclusion, "Drive All Over Town" is a masterclass in emotional storytelling. Through the combination of poignant lyrics, intricate musicality, and Elliott Smith's distinctive vocal style, the song captures the essence of complex human relationships in a way that feels both deeply personal and universally relatable. It invites the listener to reflect on their own experiences of love and loss, evoking a bittersweet longing that lingers long after the song has ended. As part of Roman Candle, it serves as an essential piece in Smith's discography, setting the stage for his subsequent exploration of similar themes throughout his career. The juxtaposition of hope and despair found in the song encapsulates the intricate tapestry of human emotions, making "Drive All Over Town" an enduring testament to Elliott Smith's profound lyrical genius and musical artistry.

[carica-ficus]

Review: A Town Called River

Author: Igor Rendić

Date: 15/02/2023

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐

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I finally got the chance to go to the library and pick out some books from Croatian authors I've been wanting to read. "A Town Called River" has been on my radar for a while and I finally decided to pick it up this month.

It is an urban fantasy that focuses on Slavic mythology as its main source of creatures, magic and plot. The story follows a young man, Paul, who comes back to his hometown, Rijeka, after his grandmother died. Little does he know she has left him somewhat more than her earthly belongings - the responsibility of a krsnik, a sort of magical protector of the region.

Before he becomes engulfed in the supernatural world around him, Paul's everyday life and errands invoke a comforting feeling of nostalgia. The author's love of the small cultural parts of Croatian and local life come into light through Paul's appreciation of the cuisine, his surroundings, and the people. Rendić also perfectly illustrated Paul's grief. There is a certain type of sorrow a person feels over the loss of a grandparent they were close to, and Paul's loss was indisputably tangible.

What stuck out to me is that, even though Paul's grandma has already passed before the story of the book started, her character is very well made. She is given a core personality based on care, protection and understanding, but she is brought to life through her background, reputation and work. She is not glorified, but is spoken about with respect. Not a lot of books feature a departed character who's personality has been reflected so authentically through the memories of other characters.

Unfortunately, I found the introduction to the main story somewhat too long. Paul is basically thrown into a role he never knew existed, let alone prepared for, so the beginning is filled with his anxious thoughts, self-doubt and fear. Katrina, his childhood friend, tries to help him through his feelings, but their discussions and arguments are quite repetitive and end up in seemingly endless cycles. The plot seems to stand still as Paul desperately tries to figure out what to do - fly back to America or stay in Rijeka and fulfill his obligation.

As Paul finally makes his decision, he discovers his powers and decides to use them, which makes the second half of the book filled with action, angry opponents, fights, hasty decisions and high stakes. The creatures Paul runs into are anything, but ordinary, and their designs are almost straight out of a horror. I was pleasantly surprised to find out how gory this story actually was, featuring many bloody, painful mutilations. The main villains actually get introduced almost at the very end of the book and their backgrounds and motives imply a much wider story that is yet to unfold.

"A Town Called River" is only the first book of the series, and while I expected a bit more from it, I am curious to see what happens next. There's a lot of things to love about this book, especially the characters and the fantastic elements. It is worth giving a chance to, but the book didn't really appeal to me as much as I would've liked. There's great potential behind it, but it falls short in some aspects. I feel I would've liked it a lot more if I read it when I was a younger.

[luvrodite]

ok. ok i've finally had the time to sit down and read this masterpiece and i think i'm going to need several moments to collect myself and my thoughts. sunnie....you deserve a thousand accolades. i am shipping them to your house right now.

"He knew your name. He knew who you are to me and he knew your fucking name."

the desperation you wove into this fic had me on the edge of my seat but this line specifically stood out to me the most. the repetition, the urgency and panic and the desperation. i can almost hear the crack in his voice, the pitch of it. anger and fury and the bottoming of his stomach because he knew your fucking name.

"This doesn’t end just ‘cause Black Mask’s dead. It’s every enemy the Hood has ever made knowing that my heart’s walking around outside my body.” And that, that makes your breath catch in your throat. Stuns you enough that you’re not fully prepared for what he says next. “So this, you and me, it's gotta be done. I'll move out tomorrow, pack things up later. I won't leave you unprotected, I'll— I'll still patrol but you won't have to see me again. You can have a clean start."

everything about this paragraph was so delightfully constructed but. my heart is walking around outside my body. my heart is walking around outside my body. it isn't enough to give you a piece of his heart, to give you the whole thing – because you are it. simply breathing, you give him life. i'm reading this and i'm thinking about the level of devotion you've written him to have – devotion met equally as bruisingly and burning by the reader !! devotion that would have him make a decision that would undoubtedly break his heart but at least he would be able to live knowing you were too.

Suddenly fed up with the chafing of the towel on your poor inner thighs you try to shift, when you feel him hard under the thin layer of the bath towel. You feel Jason freeze up, time crystallizing around you before speeding back up like a poorly wound tape.

time, mystical time, cutting me open and healing me fine...this isn't a soulmate fanfiction, they weren't pre-existing but rather forged and i think there is something equally (if not more) powerful about that. this line reminded me so much of invisible string, but also. it's just such beautiful prose. the imagery it invokes, the tension of a string pulled taught and then the snap that comes in the paragraph after.

Something about your faith in him has Jason whining at the back of his throat like a wounded animal. He tries to buck his hips but freezes when the hand in his hair forcefully tugs his head back, exposes the vulnerable line of his throat. "Can't just say that sweetheart. Can't just say that and not let me fuck you full." Another tug at his hair has him moaning, the cords of his throat standing out. "C'mon, c'mon. You're so wet and so warm for me. I'll make you feel— feel so good."

the smut in this fic was absolutely delectable sunnie. the dynamics, the emotions running high and bleeding into every movement they make, every word that comes out, bleeding into their conversation. i'm shaking the bars of my enclosure. just...the bit about trusting him, and conveying that to him, and him reacting in that specific way. like a wounded animal. i don't know how to articulate it, but you did an immaculate job on this fic, sunnie, you should be so proud of yourself.

Always and Forever

jason todd x f!reader

summary: jason tries to end things after a bad patrol. you won’t give him up without a fight.

tags: f!reader, smut, kissing, biting, piv sex, unprotected sex, fingering (mention) cock warming, orgasm denial (kind of), belly bulge, size kink (if you squint), overstimulation, creampie (if you think this is misproperly tagged please let me know) minors and ageless blogs do not interact

rated e (mdni) | wc: 5.5k

a/n: this is my first time writing smut (or a fic of this length) so please be gentle! if you find jason a little ooc, i’m still working on getting his ‘voice’ right, so just consider him one of the many versions we’ve all come to love. this started as a single smut scene and grew feelings and a bit of plot from there. this was definitely a labour of love so i hope you all enjoy it!

“We’re done. Us. All of it. You’re free to leave.”

The modulated voice of the Red Hood startles you. It’s nearly six in the morning, and you’ve been up since three when Jason didn’t return from patrol like he promised. He’s still in his Hood gear, hasn’t bothered to take off the helmet or even the boots crusted in who knows what. The leather jacket has taken a beating, and in the dim light of your apartment living room it glistens damply like he was caught in the earlier rain. He won’t even look in your direction, hands fisted at his sides, the darkened leather of his gloves taut across his knuckles. Jason didn’t come home like he promised and now he can’t even bear to look at you as he tears your heart in two. It’s understandable then, that when your voice returns to you and you can breathe around the lump in your throat, that your voice shatters the silence.

“Look at me. Look. At. Me.”

Only the way that his body locks up, somehow tenser than before, deflates you. A whole night’s worry and frustration drained away.

“Jay? Please take off the helmet and look at me.”

His black curls are matted to his forehead with sweat. His one white streak is dark with it,. Somewhere along the way he must have ditched the domino mask, because the sight of his bare face twists something tight in your chest. His beautiful eyes are red rimmed, tear tracks still staining his cheeks. His lips look bitten raw. He looks at you the way a dying man looks at salvation. Realization dawns slowly for you.

His black curls are matted to his forehead with sweat. His one white streak is dark with it,. Somewhere along the way he must have ditched the domino mask, because the sight of his bare face twists something tight in your chest. His beautiful eyes are red rimmed, tear tracks still staining his cheeks. His lips look bitten raw. He looks at you the way a dying man looks at salvation. Realization dawns slowly for you.

“You didn’t get caught in the rain, did you?”

A sharp nod, jaw clenching, but he doesn’t look away. Now you’ve noticed, you can’t stop. There’s a faint blood spray on the front of the helmet, barely visible from where Jason’s placed it on the counter. The leather jacket is soaked through with blood, darker splotches on his tac pants from where it’s followed gravity. The grime on his boots now looks rusty, though that might just be your imagination. Jason’s come home hours late covered in blood and is telling you to leave. This time, your voice is startlingly gentle.

“Jay we talked about this. You promised no life altering conversations when you’re covered in blood, remember?”

At the time, had been a joke. A promise made after a close call, when Jason was still loopy from sedation and painkillers and insisting he was going to duel Doc Leslie for your honour. Finally lucid, he had sheepishly promised no more dramatic ultimatums when he's covered in blood.

“But you need to—“

“No. You promised. What’s going to happen is you’re going to leave all your gear at the front door and we’ll deal with it tomorrow. You’re going to tell me if you’re injured and let me fix you up if you are. Then you’re going to shower. Then, and only then are we going to have this discussion.”

“I don’t—”

“Please.”

He caves at the way your whole body sags under the weight of one word. Carefully toes off his boots and socks, peels the stiff tac pants off, and lays his top and jacket on top of the whole pile. Reveals a smattering of bruises down his arms and along his rib cage. To get to the ensuite he has to walk past you and through your shared bedroom. The heat of him passing by has you turning after him, a star caught in his orbit, words curling to ash on your tongue. It’s only when he’s firmly out of sight that you allow yourself to collapse into the couch. Head lolling back, gaze fixed on the ceiling. Blankly you watch the headlights of passing cars loom and fade across the ceiling.

You do your best not to cry but wet trails burn down your face. You dash them away, but it does nothing to make you feel better. You don’t know if you’ll survive the coming conversation, a litany of “he doesn’t love me anymore, or at least not enough to keep me” is running through your head. Something is wrong, you think. Usually after a rough night, Jason can’t get enough of you. He comes home to your shared apartment and holds you, needs to feel the touch of your skin and the heat of your breath to truly know you’re alive. He's never the most talkative on the worst nights, but he always reaches out. Mumbles into your throat just to hear your replies, get you to distract him with chatter about your own day. He’ll act like he’s touch starved, press his split knuckles to the back of your hand, pull you into him until his nose is buried in the crook of your neck, pet and touch whatever bare skin is in reach. You're used to shaking off the vestiges of sleep to Jason between your thighs, fingers and tongue skillfully opening you up before he slides his cock inside, splitting you open just to feel you tighten around him. Tonight he hasn’t even reached out to hold your hand.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Jason stands in the doorway to your shared bedroom. Wet from his shower, the streetlight filtering through the curtains illuminating the water still beading on his skin. The bruises look less stark now. You look at him and feel love. You look at him and see the man you gave the most vulnerable parts of yourself to, ready to hand them back to you on a platter. Rolling your head to look at him properly, you notice he hasn't bothered to dress, wrapped in a towel like he couldn't wait to put off this conversation a moment longer. Your eyes meet, and it snaps whatever trance he's in. He shuffles over to you, eyes asking for permission to join you on the couch. The couch dips under his weight, and you turn on your side to face him, legs curling up to your chest.

"I'm glad you're home."

You reach out to brush his face, aching to remind yourself that's he's real but he shies back from the motion, denies you both the comfort of contact.

"Don’t. I'm not— I'm not good for you. We can't— I'm not gonna do this to you anymore."

"Do what to me Jason?" you ask, genuinely puzzled "Be us? I chose this, I chose you, and I have kept on choosing you from the beginning. I don't understand." By the end, you're truly pleading, begging with your voice and eyes and body for him to explain this to you. To explain why he's trying to make this choice for you.

"Bein' with me puts you in danger," he says slowly, carefully. "You think you know what you've signed up for but you don't. Not really. I painted a target on your back and now the worst of Gotham are gonna come sniffin’ at your door. You're never gonna be safe with me and I don't want to be the reason why you're hurt. You deserve better than me and a life of looking over your shoulder. I can't give you that, I'll never be able to give you that."

And oh, that hurts. The way he says it, dripping with self-loathing and certainty, cracks your heart open. It speaks of long held fears and convictions that he will never be good enough, that he is too broken and too dangerous to be loved.

"Did something happen tonight?" you ask, searching for a reason, anything, that would have brought old wounds to light.

"What?" Tension laces his body tight. There's a wild look in his eyes, shifting closer to green than blue.

"Jay, you made all of those risks clear to me before we were even real friends. So, what happened tonight to make you so sure that you'll be the death of me?"

Something about the way you state the question so matter of factly unsettles him enough to reply. "Heard some chatter down at docks about Black Mask setting up a new warehouse. Tonight was just supposed to be easy. Just about fuckin' with him, get B and Wing time to gather evidence on his new operation. He was waiting for us, probably set the whole thing up as a trap. Did a whole melodramatic monologue too 'bout how if we were gonna threaten his operation — the only thing that means anything to him — then turnabout’s fair play."

He's paused in his remembered anger, hands flexing against the couch cushions. You nod, trying to encourage him, not wanting to break the spell that got him talking in the first place. But you really don't like where this was headed. When he speaks again, its in a whisper.

"He knew your name. He knew who you are to me and he knew your fucking name."

The fear that jolts through you at that statement is matched by the intensity in his eyes. Distractedly you notice that you can’t feel your fingers. Heart racing, the only thing grounding you is the weave of the cushion under your cheek.

"Okay, we can— we can handle this. It'll be difficult but I can—"

"He's dead," Jason interrupts.

"He's what." All trains of thought come to a crashing stop.

"I killed him."

Its a confession and a plea for forgiveness wrapped in one. He can't quite look you in the eyes anymore, his whole demeanor screaming shame. Stunned and wide-eyed all you can do is drink him in, this incredible, ridiculous man. Car headlights cut through the shadows, lighting up the planes of his face and catching on the still too-green of his eyes. Somewhere along the way you've moved closer. His face is only a breath away and in the silence it feels unbearably intimate.

You can't help blurting out, "Can I kiss you?" The thought of being unable to touch him any longer is utterly unthinkable. Not when he's right in front of you, lips parted and waiting for you to pronounce judgement over him. He nods, shyly, and then you're in his lap. His face is cradled in your hands, eyes wide as he looks up at you. His lips are warm when you finally give in to the urge to taste him. They're rough from where he's bitten them but they're pliant against yours. Drawing back, you rest your forehead on his, unwilling to be any further apart.

"He had your name in his fuckin' mouth and I couldn't let him live for that. So yeah, I killed him. Him and every one a his lieutenants in the room that heard." Jason pauses, tries to gauge your reaction, continues on more self-consciously. "B and Wing couldn’t stop me and I didn’t want them to. He was a threat to you and I didn't know. You could have died and I wouldn't even've known what to protect you from." He tries to pull back from you, but you don't let him. Lets his motion pull you along with him, hands still cradling his face.

"Is that where all the blood is from? You're not hiding any injuries besides the bruises from me?" you ask worriedly. He's done it before, but you'd hoped he'd learned to trust you better. Jason goes to remove your hands from his face and you don't resist. He presses soft kisses to each of your palms before folding them to his bare chest right over his heart.

"Fuck sweetheart, I tell you that I've just killed a roomful of men and you want to know if I'm okay? You're not angry that I killed, again?" And oh he looks so ready for you to reject him. Waiting for you to turn away, to call him a monster, for your love to turn to horror.

When you speak, the words come out slowly, each syllable weighed out with care. "Am I bad person if I say that I'm grateful?" You can feel his heartbeat speeding up under your hands as you speak. "Because I am Jay, I'm so, so grateful. I'm grateful that I'll never have to worry about a bullet in the dark or getting taken off the street. Mostly I'm grateful that I won't be used to hurt you. But I'm also so very sorry Jay that you had to kill again." He shudders at that, closes his eyes and squeezes your hands tight tight tight. "I know that you were trying so, so hard not to kill, to live by your family's rules and I'm so sorry that you had to break that promise to yourself. Can you forgive me for putting you in that impossible position?"

"I— I don't need your forgiveness, not for this. But don't you see? I'm the reason you were danger. If I hadn't a been quick enough, if there's ever a day when I'm not fast enough, then you'd've died." At that he stops, swallows thickly, like he's considering a world where he doesn't save you. "This doesn’t end just ‘cause Black Mask’s dead. It’s every enemy the Hood has ever made knowing that my heart’s walking around outside my body.” And that, that makes your breath catch in your throat. Stuns you enough that you’re not fully prepared for what he says next. “So this, you and me, it's gotta be done. I'll move out tomorrow, pack things up later. I won't leave you unprotected, I'll— I'll still patrol but you won't have to see me again. You can have a clean start."

Now, now you are angry. Pushing off his chest you lever yourself upright, forcing him to look up at you. Straddled across his lap your balance is precarious at best but you need him to see you, to realize that what you say next is what you mean with every wretched part of you.

"No."

"No?" He's looking up at you, glazed eyes and mouth open wide with shock.

"No. Jason Peter Todd you do not get to make this decision for me." With every word you push your finger into his chest for emphasis, your whole body shaking with the force you're putting behind your words. "I knew the risks because you told me about them. I decided that I could live with them if it meant having you. I told you always and forever. I meant it then and I mean it now. So this, you and me, it’s over when I agree it is. I gave you my fucking heart and this is me not accepting it back. You tell me I’m free to leave anytime, well I’m not.” His hands have fallen to your hips where they clench and unclench. “You haven’t been able to keep me out of your sight lines for more than three minutes tonight. You can’t go a day without touching me, feeling me up and getting your cock wet. I know you don’t sleep half so well if I’m not in your bed and neither can I. I know the way you look when you think nothing you’ve done has ever been good enough and the face you make when you feel like a hero. I know you to your bones and you know me. You want me to live a life that you’re not a part of, well I won’t." Suddenly fed up with the chafing of the towel on your poor inner thighs you try to shift, when you feel him hard under the thin layer of the bath towel. You feel Jason freeze up, time crystallizing around you before speeding back up like a poorly wound tape.

“Off. Off now” You start pawing at the blasted towel unsuccessfully, before giving up and going for your own sleep pants. You’re half way through wiggling them off before Jason’s brain catches up with you and then he’s scrabbling to tear the towel off and get you bare. You grab his hardening cock and guide it to the entrance of your cunt. You’re still not slick enough for this, didn’t spend ages getting opened up on fingers first, but you’re desperate enough to make it work. His hands around your thighs are like iron, clinging to you like a life preserver. You take it slow, letting gravity do the work of spearing you open on his cock, unable to take him to the hilt in one swift motion the way you ache to. Jason’s a big man, always towering over you in size, and his cock is perfectly large to match. Already the stretch is just the other side of painful, the thickness of him cleaving you in two. You gasp like you’ve been punched with every inch downwards. By the time your hips meet his pelvis his stomach muscles are clenched and twitching from the effort of not just fucking up into you and taking what he wants. His fingers are buried in the couch cushions. Deliriously you wonder if the cushions will still be intact by the end of this conversation.

"So tell me again," you pant, "tell me why you think you can just walk away from me and all the love we have like it's nothing." Jason groans at your words, buries his face in your throat, hips still twitching with aborted thrusts.

"Please, please baby. Let me move— shit, let me make you feel good. God, sweetheart you're so fucking tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me." The growing roll of his hips is distracting. He's so fucking thick, this position making him feel like he's somewhere in your stomach, every flex of his muscles bullies him deeper, threatens to shake all the thoughts out of your head. That just won’t do. You take back control with a soft hand on his chest pushing him back until he's leaned right back against the couch cushions.

"You started this conversation Jay. It’s not done until you finish it. Besides, you’re the one that wants to put a stop to all this." You punctuate your words with a single calculated grind of your hips, make him claw at your hips with abandon. Revel at the weight of him inside of you. Trail your hand up his chest so you can thread your fingers into his damp curls. "Why should I let you move, hmm? Give me that list of reasons, and maybe I'll let you fuck me when we're done talking." His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the colour of his eyes anymore.

It takes a few false starts before he can put a coherent thought together. "Being— being with me makes, oh god, makes you a target. People'll go through you, tryna hurt me. You're gonna get hurt cus'a me, could die fr'me." He's trembling all over now, words slurring together and gasping for air. He settles a little when you run your other hand down his chest to trace his y-shaped scar, lean in and kiss him slow and sweet. Nip and tease at his already abused bottom lip.

"Love that ship went and sailed the first time you talked to me," you say. "There's no putting that back in the box and hoping everyone will forget that we were us." Taking your time, you mouth along his jawline, feel his hand slide under your shirt to come settle on the small of your back. "Say we split up, what then? Doesn't matter how often you swing by, someone'll always try and find a way. Tonight was just a reminder. How does breaking both of our hearts make that go away?" Nuzzling into that sweet space below his jaw, you can feel the way his pulse races and cock twitches in you. All the while you keep your hips tortuously still, warming his cock with your cunt, enjoying the stretch of him. A tug of his hair gets him talking again.

"I'm not a— not a good man. I've killed a lot a people, don't even regret most a'em." He can't look at you as he says it, eyes fixed on a spot over your shoulder. His hand on your back flexes, fingers tightening around your hip bone.

"Didn't we just go over this? Jay I'm glad you killed those men, and if that makes you a bad person so am I." This time its him that goes in for a kiss, latches on to the plush of your lips, licks his way inside. Cradles your skull and pulls you closer, has to stop kissing you to gasp when that shifts his cock inside of you.

"Sweetheart, you're the best person damn person I know," he breathes into your mouth. Traces over your cheekbone with the tip of his nose. "You're the best fuckin' thing to happen to me. But you shouldn't hafta decide if you're okay with me killing people. Shouldn't be something you gotta think about at all." There it is again, that tinge of self-loathing. And that's what it’s really all about isn't it?

"You're not making me do anything. You think I didn't know who I was saying yes to when you asked me out to dinner? That I was unaware of Hood's brand of justice? That unlike your family, I didn’t already approve of your methods? Love, I was grateful for you before you'd even walked into my life." Its a confession you hadn't said out loud before, but maybe you should've. Something about your faith in him has Jason whining at the back of his throat like a wounded animal. He tries to buck his hips but freezes when the hand in his hair forcefully tugs his head back, exposes the vulnerable line of his throat.

"Can't just say that sweetheart. Can't just say that and not let me fuck you full." Another tug at his hair has him moaning, the cords of his throat standing out. "C'mon, c'mon. You're so wet and so warm for me. I'll make you feel— feel so good." On the last word he tries to thrust up but you were expecting this, dig your knees into the couch to leverage up off of him at the same time he moves forward. You bite down on the soft skin of his throat before pressing a kiss to the forming bruise. Let go of his hair to clasp the side of his neck, rub your thumb over the hinge of his jaw. Let his head fall forward to your chest, resting his brow on your collarbone.

"I said after our conversation, didn't I? And those aren't your only reasons, are they?" you tease. "You can fuck me whenever you want Jay, you just have to be honest first."

He’s torn, you can tell. Caught between chasing his pleasure at the steep price of his darkest fears, but also wanting to do right by you, as misguided as this attempt is. But he’s been so truthful so far, deserves a reward for how good he’s been. So you clamp down, hard, feel his cock brush against that soft part of your gut that makes you shiver with pleasure. Enjoy the punched out sound that wrings from him. Grind your hips down in a filthy circle, once, twice. Then just as suddenly stop. Let him pant and shake, breath warm in the contours of your throat.

When he finally speaks, his voice is so small you can barely hear him. "M'scared." He shudders as he says it. Something in the curve of his spine screams vulnerable, sparks an itch in your fingers to touch and so you do.

"Think 'm too broken for you to love. Think 'm too broken to love you right. Scared one day that the pit's gonna burn too bright and I'll hurt you." Like a broken dam, the words come tumbling out so quickly now. All you can do is keep stroking his back, this giant of a man rendered so small in your arms. "That I'll wake up one day and it'll be my hands covered in your blood." The hate and self-loathing is almost palpable, an oil slick shadow creeping along the floorboards. You could cry from the way his voice shakes and cracks.

“Oh, love.” And this time it’s your voice cracking. “I’ve never thought of you as broken. There’s never going to be a day where I think you’re too broken for me to love. If the day ever comes that you do break, I’ll pick up all the shiny pieces with my bare hands if I have to. I’ll put you back together again even if it cuts me open because that’s what we do Jason. You don’t think there aren’t parts of me I’d rather smooth out too? You don’t have to love me perfectly to love me right.” He’s straightening up now, trying to get a better view of your face, needs to see the truth of your words. His arms have moved around you like a vice, holding on as if you’ll disappear if he lets go. “You’ve never hurt me Jason. Scratch that, you’ve never hurt me before tonight and your stupid, noble attempt to break up with me. But not once have you laid your hands on me and not once have I been afraid of you.” He tries to interrupt, opens his mouth to speak but you’re not finished. You lay finger over his lips, force him to let you say your piece. “But I know that the problem isn’t my trust in you, it’s yours. Besides Black Mask and his thugs, did you hurt anyone else tonight?” At the shake of his head you continue. “There you have it. Even tonight, when you had every reason to spin out of control you didn’t hurt anyone you didn’t mean to. So talk to me. We’ll figure this out. Hell, we’ll find you a therapist if that’s what you want. So trust me, at least, even if you can’t trust yourself.”

You’d swear there were tears in his eyes if you didn’t already know never to trust the early morning light. It’s past dawn now and in the silence Jason looks like something out of a fairytale. The weak golden light makes him look so alive, so vibrant. He sits there still as stone, holding you tight in his lap, dumb with the weight of your love and acceptance. His grin, when it breaks over his face, is a little watery but possibly the most precious thing you’ve ever seen.

“There’s really no scaring you off, is there?” It’s a weak joke, but he’s trying.

“No. There isn’t.” If your words don’t convince him then the tone of satisfaction ringing through them would. Pushing at his shoulders you maneuver him as close to lying down as you can manage on your old couch. Tearing off your oversized sleep shirt (stolen from Jason of course), you’re finally as bare as he is. Perched over him, you enjoy the view of him splayed out like an offering. Reaching for his arm, you find his hand, place it on the curve below your belly and lace your fingers over the back of it. You push his palm down into you to feel the hard swell of where his cock is curving you out, carving out a place in your guts and moulding your cunt to the shape of his cock. You can see the exact moment his restraint snaps when he realizes he’s feeling himself through you. Let him jack knife up into you, feel the way his hardness moves under his palm. Enjoy the way it feels to finally have him drag his cock through you. But he’s trying to be respectful and you haven’t given him the go ahead yet. He restrains himself to shallow rocking motions, unable to stop himself completely, but the effort this is costing him is clear by his straining muscles and wide eyes.

“You paying attention Jay? This—” and this time you clench down on his cock as you press his hand to the shape of your womb just to hear him choke, “is yours. And you left it aching and empty for hours. You made such pretty promises earlier.” For this last part you lean down real close, brace yourself with an arm over his shoulder, wanting to make sure he doesn’t miss a thing. “And our conversation just ended.” He takes it as the permission it is and slams into you, deeper than before like you can feel him in you throat. Hands an iron grip around your waist, pulling you down to meet each sharp rolling thrust. Bullies his cock into you until he finds the angle that has sparks running under your skin, keeps hitting that angle with all the precision and aim of a sniper with his marksmanship. At this angle, his head’s at the perfect height to mouth at your breasts. You can feel him smiling around a nipple as he listens to you moan, only detaching to give the other breast the same kind of enthusiastic attention. Your arm finally gives out, falling down onto his bare chest. Limp, you let him manoeuvre him how he wants you, a rag-doll for your mutual pleasure. All the while he doesn’t stop fucking into you, any semblance of earlier control gone.

“Fuck, sweetheart you don’t know— don’t know what you do to me.” He’s gasping between each word, but the meaning of them still makes their way to your blissed out brain. The slick drag of his cock head along your clenching insides making everything else fade away. You can feel your orgasm building, heat pooling and growing with every thrust. Jason can feel you tightening up around him, knows the signs of your body so well. He starts circling your clit with his fingers, alternating pressure with his thrusts. The long drag and stretch of his cock, almost too much for you to take, never falters. It bumps up against your cervix, fills you up so completely that there’s room for nothing else but it and the pleasure it rips from you. Your release tears through you like wildfire, and for a moment dark spots cloud your vision. You know that you’ve clamped down, tight and hot and slick by the punched out groan from Jason, the way his head falls back onto the couch. But through it all he still keeps pumping into you.

He bites and sucks at your throat, a distraction from your over sensitivity. He leaves your clit alone, stops assaulting all your senses so viciously. Listens to you mewl from how sore and sensitive you are from having taken his cock nearly dry, having held it in you for so long before getting your cunt battered by it. “M so sorry sweetheart. Didn’t wanna hurt you. Gonna— gonna make it up to you. For the rest a m’life.” Now he’s rutting into you, all rhythm and finesse gone in pursuit of his own pleasure. Fire is running through your veins, gathering in your cunt and burning you whole. Your legs are weak and trembling where Jason’s placed them, hands trailing down your thighs to hook under your knees and pull your legs wider. Like this you’re trapped, pinned against him by the spread of your cunt, clit wet and grinding against his pubic bone every time he fucks back into you. You’re so close to another orgasm, quicker than you’ve ever been before.

“Please— Jay please, don’t— don’t stop. Need you. Need you har— harder. Jay. Jay” Jason being Jason, obliges. Your whole body jolts from the force of him inside you. You’re so frustratingly close, dancing on the knife’s edge of oblivion. Jay’s close too. You can tell by the way his breathing speeds up, the way he wraps one arm over your shoulder to keep you in place as he fucks your cunt raw. What sends you both over the edge is Jason taking his other hand and pushing down hard on the swell of your abdomen, the both of you feeling his cock kick and spurt inside of you. Heat paints your walls, and it’s that combined with all consuming pressure of his cock remaking you in his image that has you crying out your orgasm. Jason doesn’t pull out right away. Stays inside you and lets himself grow soft. Kisses featherlight over your face and eyelids. Strokes your flanks and combs his fingers through your hair. Soothes you into a light sleep.

When you wake up, it’s to full sunlight streaming into your bedroom. Turning your head, Jason meets your gaze, propped up on an elbow to watch over you. The both of you are still naked under the blankets but he must have cleaned up the mess between your legs. He pressed a kiss between your eyes before you can get too swept up by your thoughts.

“Hiya sweetheart.” The corners of his eyes crinkle up when he smiles like this. You think they’d make him look kind when he’s older. “I’m not going anywhere now, I promise.”

“Always?”

“Forever.”

[harrelltut]

☥ HATE… My HIGHLY ADVANCED [HA = HARRELL] Egyptian [HE = JAH] Empire [JE = JESUS] of Mental Hibernation [MH] Magick from Nubian Archangel [NA = NĀGA] SATAN who SOULFULLY + ARISTOCRATICALLY [SA= SATURN] BEE A MOST HIGH [MH = JAH] BLACK MESSIAH [JEHOVAH] y’all Still Ritualistically [RELIGIOUSLY] Crucify @ yo’ Mama’s unethical church of temporal govment ownership you BLINDLY support since you desperately need EMOTIONAL support for yo’ FUCKED UP lives of repetitive mediocracy ☥

[queermetalgremlin]

A Serbian Film’s soundtrack review

Yes. I’m dead serious.

To be honest, it’s really not bad, regardless of the movie it’s in. It’s got vibes, eerieness and a certain edgy... well, edge. And since i have nothing else to do (aka i’m drained of any energy i had today) i’ve decided to review every track on this godforsaken movie.

01 - The End

The most chipper and upbeat track of the whole soundtrack. The bass sounds like a fart and it can drag a bit, but other than that it’s a pretty catchy tune, that heavily invokes the ‘80s, mindlessness, consumerism and cheap porn. Speaking of which...

02 - Cheaporn 

One of my favourites. Haunting, menacing, with an almost obsessive vocal sample, that reminds me of an authoritative figure barking orders to a confused and vulnerable employee, like Milos is, doesn’t overstay its welcome, short and “sweet”. The perfect theme song for a character like our protagonist. 

03 - Tone Deaf

Pretty chill track, but boy is it repetitive! It just becomes a drag after a while. Also the random rises in volume are annoying af.

04 - Decollection

Eerie, desperate, hopeless, dark. It has an unreal level of desperation, and the vibes give it all away. Amazing.. but i still like Cheaporn more. Can’t control personal music tastes /lh

05 - Radio Waves

It’s nos as music as it is creepy ambient music. Pretty repetitive, can become boring, but gives off the oppressive atmosphere pretty well.

06 - Fancy Porn 

Another ‘80s-sounding bop. Way more mindless than The End, but still retains some shades of dark vibes. Unironically good dance music.

07 - Serbia

Sounds like a track that someone could find in a horror RPG. Captivating and mysterious, it prefectly carries the recurring themes of desolation, with some surprisingly touching and solemn sections.

08- Unsee It

It’s a gut punch. The peak of desperation, despair, hopelessness. Some scattered piano key smashes, very reminiscent of Suicidemouse.avi, and synths that punch your feelings while still being subtle create a very uncomfortable feeling, that stays with you long after the track ends, which is surprisingly soon. It plays in its favour though, it doesn’t overstays its welcome, its looming and despairing welcome.

09 - Rigor Mortis

Harsh yet really damn catchy, with some surprising indian sounding instruments to soothe the mood, before another wave of electronic crudeness hits. Pretty long, but entertains nonetheless. 

10 - Le Club Filth

Despite the name, it has little to nothing to do with the feelings associated with clubs. It’s dry, cold yet hard-hitting. 

11 - W.F.S.

The most cinematic track by far. Despite this, it’s not music. I mean, it has some musical elements, but this is ambient noise. Still kinda disturbing, though, even if it’s wayyy too long.

12 - Balcan Sex God

The return of the fart bass! Bullshit aside, it’s a pretty solid track overall. It’s catchy, still retains the themes of the album, and it may just be my autistic ass, but it sounds... sarcastic, sardonic. Like “Oh boy, you’re not ready , are ya?” and “Here we go, i hope you enjoy it” while knowing you’ll come out of it horrified. It’s a perfect fit for the credits of this movie. So, that concludes-

13 - Pazi Sta Radis

...Seriously? It’s the same fucking song as Balcan Sex God. I tried to listen to these back to back, and i shit you not, it’s the same song. I’ll never get why it’s listed as a “Bonus track”.

So, that concludes this pointless review of the soundtrack of this damned movie. The conclusion? It’s a pretty intense listen, that tends to get too drawn out at times, but is capable of evoking heavy feelings, with a shit ton of vibes and charm. Underrated soundtrack, if you ask me. Don’t watch the movie if you’re sensitive though, i’m not exaggerating.

[clowns-to-the-west]

ok i have 3 so far. this took me an hour

Not one for inner peace I savor my only taste Desperate hands on your waist Eyes whispering for release ----------------------------------------------------- I wish it were you biting my tongue and not me ----------------------------------------------------- As you fix me without instruction Restraints fail and fear sets in I may append your heart to mine And provoke certain destruction ----------------------------------------------------- ok i guess the second one doesn't count, it's more tumblr-post-y anyways. but. i do like the first one a lot and how the ABBA scheme is used to invoke feelings of claustrophobia, which is how i feel right now. last one is a little on the nose if you knows. i was going for another ABBA scheme, but i couldn't work it out. so then i went for good ole ABCB, and realized after that i had actually made AABA, as suffix -tion can be made to rhyme with "in". so it has a little interpretation but i think the AABA conveys repetition and uncertainty much better than ABCB, which despite having more variables tends to land much more well rounded and wholesome. but idk tell me what u think

god damn every time i go back and write poetry it makes me feel so much better. i wish i wasnt too insecure to share it

[an-aura-about-you]

July 28th, 1783

Crossing the Bridge

Somewhere Else Under the King

So here's something interesting about this setup: because I'm posting the daily entries in order by year, the first of today's entries is being posted from Chapter 4. Chapter 1's entry will actually be the fourth entry posted today. This isn't the earliest entry for any of the timelines, but it is in the earliest century we'll touch upon. It also has the first of a few Chzo Mythos typical pain spirals, which have intentional repetition, dropped letters, and words running together without spaces. All of today's entries also have canon typical descriptions of violence. (Which canon? Yes.) With that in mind, let's proceed:

Jack Frehorn takes another drink of whiskey, letting it burn down his throat. A couple of drops spill from the bottle and onto the edge of his book, and he swipes them away with a now clumsy hand. He chooses this. He can control this. Or he could when he opened the bottle. He is settled in the familiar, comforting haze of drunkenness, an embrace he finds himself in all too often.

It is enough to move him to his next choice.

He sets the bottle and the book aside on the table and leaves his chair, getting to his knees on the floor. He knows he won’t be able to stand soon after it starts. He takes a deep breath, but that’s the only hesitation he allows.

“CHZO!” he speaks in the King’s true language.

To invoke the King is to invoke what he is, and Jack gasps from the sobering strike of pain. He braces his hands against the floor just in time to keep himself from crashing face first into it.

“Look upon your faithful servant, your favored prophet,” comes out of his mouth as if forced out by the clawing in his throat. “See the agony he offers you.”

Jack tries to breathe around the throbbing, trying to steel himself against what comes next, but it always floods in sooner than he thinks it will. The harpsichord is gone, but Jack hears each note of the Prince’s eerie song. He can still see the Prince sitting there on the bench, his hideously stretched form crouched over the keys. His right hand is flat against the ground, but he still feels the weight of his pistol and the kickback from the shot. Wilbur is there now where the Prince was, slumped over the harpsichord, eyes wide in uncomprehending shock and blood flowing free from the fatal wound and staining the cursed wood of the instrument. He whimpers, his gasps of pain gradually turning into sobs.

He presses his hands into the floor, forcing himself to feel that and not the next tactile part of the memory: the destruction of Wilbur’s body. His hands try to curl around the weight of the ax handle, and he can see Wilbur’s blood pooling in his bathtub. Limb by limb, he takes sweet Wilbur apart, crying now when he couldn’t before.

The sobs turn into screams, the blood on his hands, it never left. The pistol, the ax, the knife take their turns in his hands. He tries to clean them with his tears. His lies burn his tongue, and the part of his mind that can still think wonders if cutting the damn thing out will hurt less than keeping it. Each gasp of desperate air is agony.

“LOOK AT ME!” he demands of Chzo.

It hurts.

The pain is blinding. His skin is pain.

It hurts.

Air drags into his mouth rough as sandpaper, shards of glass in his throat.

It hurts.

He puts his head to the floor as he screams.

It hurts.

It hurts.

it hurts.

it hurts.

it hurts

it hurts

it hurts

ithurts

ithurts

ithurts

ithurts

ithurts

hurts

hurts

hurts

hurt

hurt

hurt

hurt

hurt

Eventually the King turns his eye away, and the pain subsides. Jack pushes himself up, his arms trembling. He doesn’t know now if today is the day. He’s not sure he will ever have a way to actually know. Some prophet he is. But at least it’s over for another year, and with any luck he was able to keep the King’s eye on him long enough for them to cross.

[psalloacappella]

tenerezza

Day 6 Prompt: Cuddling // “Come closer.”

@sasusakublankperiodweek

Ao3 | FFN | ↓

He keeps his comments to himself: That she has staff for a reason, that their ex-sensei-turned-Kage works her too hard and he’d made a curt mention of it when reporting back, that perhaps someone could take the task of laundering bloody work clothes off her hands. Their responsibilities even in this delicate period they call peacetime still weigh heavy, principle baked into their bones.

In the future, their children won’t know the world quite like this.

A routine peacekeeping mission turns, twists, becomes mayhem.

Surgery is an intensive thing, the delicate dance of suspending chakra and soul in the void to negotiate with Death. And though it is a grim and arduous opponent with which to skirmish, Sakura more often than not emerges victorious.

Drained, though. Frayed at the edges.

It startles her to know that she sometimes has an audience.

Bringing the back of hand across her forehead, she dabs at the shimmering sweat. An assistant hands her a small towel, bows, and retreats. Hitching a tired grin onto her face, she inclines her head. “Hokage-sama.”

Familiar, how he can show up jauntily in a chaotic atmosphere, a mess, and still manage to seem bemused. The political consequences of this recent skirmish unspoken between them. Hands in his pockets, he brings two fingers to his temples and flicks them toward her in an affectionate motion, channeling yesteryear. “Don’t bother with that, Miss Haruno.”

Sakura wrinkles her nose at his sarcastic drawl. “That does sound weird coming from you.”

“Ah, you see? So stick with ‘sensei.’”

Despite her exhaustion, she musters up the energy to stick out her tongue.

“Mature of you,” he sighs. “But of course, well done. Exceptional, in fact.”

“You didn’t watch my whole surgery just to praise me at the end?”

Kakashi smiles, the fabric forming folds that reflect expressions innate, the way she’s interpreted them for years and knows as well as the comforting wrinkles in a beloved shirt.

There’s something knowing in the set of his chin, the easy, languid way his weight settles onto one hip, almost irreverent. 

“I’m here to tell you to go home,” he says gently. “It’s been hours. Days, really. Your capable staff will wrap up the rest.”

Perspiration, fluids; she wipes clammy hands on her coat. “Am I needed somewhere else?”

“No, I am simply invoking the powers of my grand office to send you home.”

Sakura narrows her eyes at him, swaying a bit on her feet. He’s not wrong about the rest, but she does resent his smugness in a situation where she’s unable to see the reason.

“Tell me why.” Raising her chin, she folds her arms, a stubborn root settling in for long, protracted and perhaps heated discourse.

Chuckling, his eyes twinkle in a manner just borderline risque enough to make her frown. 

“He’s home.”

“Oh, for the love of—” Simmering rouge moving swift and fast through her cheeks, flooding out the pink from her exertion and becoming full-blown embarrassment. “Just say that first. Actually, no! No, don’t — how do you—?”

“He’s already checked in, report done. Doesn’t waste time chatting with me much anymore, I’m just his old, grey sensei.” Kakashi’s sigh is wistful, aiming at charming. 

But his eyes are sharp, always watchful of everything and in particular, his loved ones. Can he see her shakes, or does he just see

tears gathering on her lashes, the nightmares ripping her from sleep the night before, and the night before that, and — 

She’s sure she catches his self-satisfied wink as she hurries out on unsteady legs.

Weak knees, breathless, for all sorts of complicated reasons.

.

.

Plants watered. House slippers and shoes chivvied back into line, a neat row. 

The scent of him:  Of earth and salt, traces of forests and faraway lands and a bite — oh, that crisp bite of smoke and fire, heady and hot, from his essence rather than his clothes. 

She finds it difficult to hold herself up, clinging to the threshold frame. Laid out across her couch he’s something of an enigma, an infamous man whose existence sparks ignorant prattle, the truth and falsehoods hoarded and passed as collective talismans. Half-informed tales of the team she adores and the man she loves. 

Handsome, of course. That aspect has never changed, never will. Vulnerable, arm resting behind his head, the placid rise and sink of his chest. Managing to come back without summons but always, forever, at the precise and needed time. 

Socked feet padding against the cold wood floor, (there was a rug, she needs a new one — knucklehead Hokage-in-the-wings spilled red wine all over it), she kneels next to the couch. Eyes following the cut edge of his jawline, the sovereign slope of his nose. And most of all, the unexpected serenity his face reflects, no furrows or creases in his expressions even in sleep.

There’s an object out of place, and its energy distracts her, draws her gaze. A basket of laundry that she assumes was gathered but unfinished, a medley of clothes he undoubtedly stripped off upon arriving tossed in with the several layers she’s been through in the last week, the sanguine fabric narrative of her journey to the void and back. 

And yet. 

On hands and knees she drags it across the floor until it's in front of her, snatches a shirt right off the top. 

Bringing it to her face, she inhales the scent of devotion so potent that the tears come swift and sudden.

“Sakura?”

Sleepy, a little hoarse, but even on awakening the concern threads his voice through. Her, crying into a shirt he’s just washed for her; she sulks inwardly, feeling stupid.

When she tries to respond, struggling to force out some chirpy greeting and loving quip, it slips into impossibility. He reaches out to her, hand starting at the top of head to run through her clammy pink locks, then down to take her face in his fingers, a thumb gently swiping hot tears away. 

“Sakura.”

A hitch in her breath; she struggles to swallow down the sobs clawing and turbid at the back of the throat. Pressing her face into his chest, she mumbles, “Welcome home, Sasuke-kun.”

Still with his hand on her head, fingers exploring her scalp in idle and soothing trails as tracing familiar ancient etchings, as memorizing braille.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, shifting onto his side. Taps his fingers against her head, gentle, a quiet ask. 

Sakura’s face emerges pink, tearstained, with a wobbly smile that feels like a throwaway lie for a fool.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know what came over me. I’m so glad you’re—”

“Apologizing,” he interrupts. Like a quiet rumble, the purr of a prowling cat. “Ah, what did I say about that?”

“To stop it?”

Sasuke makes some noise of assent, from the throat rather than his lips. 

And he looks at her and knows. He’s learned, but has always intuited this habit of hers since Genin days, the way she plasters on a smile and flashes those bright teeth to disarm fools. How deeply mortifying crying feels to her in certain moments, the way it becomes an acute weakness and liability, especially regarding work. Families don’t want to see your tears, only your triumph — the way you’ve bowed to Death and danced, and depart at the end of the number with their loved one’s soul as crown and winnings. 

The problem being there’s rarely an expectation of anything less. 

Now he’s sitting up, still cradling her face in his hand. Mismatched eyes searing, searching, flickering rapidly across her face. 

“You’d better be off-duty now,” he says. “You look exhausted.”

“Oh, you sure know how to charm a girl,” Sakura sniffs. Leans into his hand and touch, raising no protests at the way his thumb continues to sweep away an endless estuary borne of things she can’t articulate. A gravity in her demeanor, at once present but faded into an unreachable inner sanctum and self. 

Instinctual, the way his fingers remain in constant contact with her skin, cheek to hair to shoulder, trailing warm down her arm and finally to her cold, shaky hand. 

Tugs her gently, indicating the space he’s made for her to sit. 

“I have to—”

“There is nothing; I’ve done it all.”

There’s nothing for her to protest, no way for her to pretend she’s fine. 

“Come closer.”

This act for her seems onerous, pulling her tired body into his lap appearing utterly spent, bereft. He keeps his comments to himself:  That she has staff for a reason, that their ex-sensei-turned-Kage works her too hard and he’d made a curt mention of it when reporting back, that perhaps someone could take the task of laundering bloody work clothes off her hands. Their responsibilities even in this delicate period they call peacetime still weigh heavy, principle baked into their bones. 

In the future, their children won’t know the world quite like this. 

She melts into him with her heavy head against his heart, his fingers continuing their simple repetitions in the tangle of her hair. 

Sasuke thinks of her shirt still soaking in the sink, one he labored on for a while before her return, desperately trying to lift the rubicund crimson from the white fabric.

Wondering if that one pulled through, for her sake. 

Her grip catches his attention, as if her head is spinning and she needs rooting to the earth — fingers in his shirt, head tucked under his chin. 

Sickle-cresents of leftover copper in the beds of her nails, the trials and triumph of a woman fighting back. 

She says something he doesn’t catch, a flutter, possibly I love you. 

What she does holds such importance, but he cannot imagine the cost. Pressing his mouth to her forehead, he speaks in a quiet chant in tender cadence with his fingers moving through her hair:

I’ve got you. 

I’ve got you. 

I’ve got you. 

[selkra-souza]

@laggysoldier​ Oh boy what virtual pet website don’t I like?

Allow me to introduce to y’all my pixel babies:

My Neopets. They run a cosmetics & candle company. Janraye owns and manages the business, he’s desperately trying (and repetitively failing) to get his shop to be an official npc shop. Zoudiaq (pronounced “zodiac”) goes out into the wildernesses across Neopia to discover exotic plant ingredients to use as fragrance, she’s on an endless and fruitless quest to find Lutari Island. Qinia breeds plant samples Zoudiaq brings in the garden and has a rustic lab in an old barn for making essential oils and stuff, but she sucks at growing plants and secretly had to make a pack with dark faeries in order to grow anything. Sqwone (pronounced “squown”) just owns the house they all live in. He’s a slacker who secretly raids Meridell villages at night for fun.

My Marapets. They’re a witch coven living in a leaning, run-down tower within their beloved evil sorceress queen’s (Queen Eleka’s) castle complex. They’re the youngest coven in the queen’s magical army, thus very inexperienced, but enthusiastic to help their queen take over the world of Marada. Unltraviolet is the leader, she’s a warlock and the strongest physically in battle. Belindabee is a J-pop inspired lolita-dressed musical celebrity who tours the world singing performances that have subliminal messaging that brainwashes the masses into swearing allegiance to Queen Eleka. Sayri is a Nightmare witch who’s physically frail, but can fall asleep on demand to astral project her much more powerfully heavy-hitting spirit, and can invoke nightmares into her opponents (think Darkrai from Pokemon). Seolfor is made of cheese right now but I plan on turning him into a candle. He’s the only coven member who isn’t at all sinister, he’s naively fun loving, likes carnivals and is an amateur clown who practices illusionary magic (think pulling rabbits out of hats, that stuff). Cebolinha (pronouced “Se-bowl-leen-ha)” is the only non-coven member in the household, he’s a (permanent) house guest with nowhere else to live, and he’s a journalist who reports on world politics, particularly the world leaders (Queen Eleka, King Baspinar, The Sultan, a guy in a jelly castle after world domination, etc.)

My Subeta pets. They live in a rural cottage in a temperate pine forest called Veta and basically just live my cottagecore dreams. Xew owns the property, he maintains a huge garden of veggies and flowers, and keeps a shrine in a shed for rabbit spirits that visit the garden. Everyone else are people whom came to live in later. Hydrero spends most of the year working onboard a cargo ship called the Freyalise, making an income for the family. Floffy is a sarcastic and deadpan amateur inventor and junk food junkie. Gius is a vaporwave loving, cassette tape collecting, pulpy horror watching 80s nerd who’s super lonely, and she uses dark love magic to try to summon a girlfriend. Aescula is an urban explorer who films and photographs abandoned or decaying places that’s anywhere from dead malls in Centropolis to underground towns populated by zombies. Avoir is from the Rift, a 4th dimensional realm (my headcannon), and won’t shut up about how great that place is, he makes paintings and zines about the Rift, and nags at people at how “primitive” the 3rd dimension is (think the Sphere from Flatland).

My Verpets. All live in an abandoned district of a metropolis city that’s decaying and overgrown. Amaranth is a old fashioned Mickey Mouse-type cheery guy and a herbalist, Ishnu is a sea witch who has no touch with reality because she insists on drinking sea water regularly thinking it’ll give her the powers of the SEA. Macrauchenia is an urban witch (have you noticed I like witches?) who grew up on the tough downtown streets of the district before it depopulated, she likes rap music and cheesy 2000s pop songs like Darude Sandstorm and gets rough and tumble with any intruders stumbling into the district. They all primarily live the old apartment Mac grew up in, but have set up bases and hideouts all around the ghost town of a city district.

My Ichumon. Currently has no personality because Ichumon is boring.

My Rescreatu. Whom are all dead because they can actually die really easily and because Rescreatu is even more boring. But back in the day they were basically a feral clan of warriors that was a carbon copy of the Warriors cat series, even being called Bloodclan haha. If I ever revive any of them they’re going to need a complete character redesign, and I’m not interested in doing so now (possibly never).

[EDIT] I nearly forgot my Misticpets! They’re both partners in crime who are constantly on the run, traveling all over the world. Rickochet is the Eddy-from-Ed,Edd and Eddy-type “mastermind” who swindles passerbys out of their money, and he loves jewelry. Cocody is the nearly mute manger of the duo’s funds and treasures, and is a expert on tax evasion, also they like to doodle in a nature journal throughout the duo’s travels.

Then there’s a bunch of other sites I’ve played like as a kid like NeuroGalaxy and Zetapets and Teripets and Cenopets but those are long gone now.

So yeah, I invest a lot in my virtual pets, and if I had infinite time I’d post comics and shitposts about all these characters and I’d have finished their pet profiles by now.

[thelioncourts]

I need all the thoughts on horror and wild! Favorite song, lines, things, all of it

Oh, I don’t think anyone is ready for me to talk about this. I don’t at all. It’s been all-consuming, it’s been a constant ache at the back of my head when it’s not on, it’s been everything I never knew I needed – a modern Keatsian explosion of words full of pastoral elegance, ever-present darkness, and odes to beauty and life and death and all the things in between.

Now, every song is beautiful. I had put a review on Bandcamp that said it seemed horribly unfair to have to choose a favorite when each one has been on a loop nonstop since they’ve graced the public. But! I will tell you the ones I find myself gravitating toward more and more with each listen; there are four and in no particular order they are:

The Horror and the Wild

Welly Boots

Farewell Wanderlust

Fair

Favorite Lines:

1. The Rockrose and the Thistle –

A single thread hangs limply downAnd I breathe not now, not nowAnd I find you all unwovenTrying desperately to sew 

2. The Horror and the Wild –

Welcome to the storm, I am thunder,Welcome to my table bring your hunger 

3. Wild Blue Yonder –

Flirting(Wasn’t flirting) At the back of a bookshop

4. Welly Boots –

Get drunk for meSing louder than you’ve sung for meGrow young each time that thunder in your lungs begins to rumble at the world

5. Farewell Wanderlust –

Goodbye to all my darkness, there’s nothing here but lightAdieu to all the faceless things that sleep with me at nightThis here isn’t make up, it’s a porcelain tombThis here is not singing, I’m just screaming in tune because –  

6. Fair –

How unfair, how unfair they’ll sing as they dance across the darling rooftop wreckHe’ll trip and she’ll pretend not to have seen,Burying her head into his chest and clinging to the moment, ‘where have you been?’She’ll whisper ‘I’ve waited oh so long for you to come’And as the stars above them hum and hear them he’ll turn to her and say ‘that’s what she said’

or, alternatively, the entire fucking song

7. The Unwanted Animal –

Cos if we join our hands in prayer enoughTo God I imagine it all starts to sound like applause. 

8. Marbles –

Your eyes aren’t rivers there to weepBut a place for crows to rest their feet 

9. Battle Cries –

And now at the end, at the end of all things,I’m not going to scream, beat my chest at the wind,I’m doing fine.

Favorite Things:

when Madeleine’s voice comes in on the second verse of “The Rockrose and the Thistle” barely audible over the winds 

the way Joey’s voice gets quieter on the word “thistle” in “The Rockrose and the Thistle” 

how Madeleine’s voice is significantly louder than Joey’s at the end of “The Rockrose” but it’s barely above a whisper

feeling like I’m on an adventure in an elven forest as soon as “The Horror and the Wild” starts!

every single word in “The Horror” that Joey sings that comes out with a growl

Madeleine’s high harmonies in the chorus of “The Horror” during the lines “they’ll sing of every time you passed your fingers through my hair”

the repetition of “remember me” and the way it builds significantly only to completely drop all the instruments 

the ending guitar and drums and violin and the suddenness that the singing stops!!! 

the contrast of Madeleine’s “I surrender what was, what could have been” to Joey’s “Don’t you ever wonder what could have been?” in “Wild Blue Yonder”

ROBOT VAMPIRE, I DON’T KNOW 

(me using context to assume a welly boot is a rainboot but googling so I don’t turn out to be a complete idiot)

the entire story told in “Welly Boots” and the sense of aching and the sense of longing it invokes 

“’How could you leave me here’ you’ll scream”

literally everything about “Farewell Wanderlust”

like? Madeleine was out to murder me specifically with the vocals

the piano

the slide she does from “say” to “You don’t know it yet” !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“But like rubbing wine stains into rugs it’s my curse

To try and make it right, but by trying make it worse”

the theatrical and bluesy quality of every single line and every note of each instrument

how Joey’s first lines are so ~low~

honestly everything after “The child you just didn’t have time to conceive”

“This here is not singing, I’m just screaming in tune” let me tell you! My breath catches in my lungs each time I hear this line!

the difference in the way Madeleine and Joey sing the chorus (this entire album is filled with so much contrast and dichotomy and it is. magnificent)

growling

every single thing Madeleine does from 4:45 to 5:00

Joey’s “Oh, he’s lost” 

the entirety of “Fair” because my heart has literally not beat properly since I first heard it

to be perfectly honest, this song leaves me incoherent so, like, don’t expect any actual anything from me

“It’s not fair, because you make me laugh when I’m really fucking cross at you for something” literally the w o r s t thing someone can do, 100/10 will make me angrier 

‘Oh howOh how unreasonableHow unreasonably in love I am with everything you doI’ll spend my days so close to you’

“I am more reasonable this morning.  The morning is the only proper time for me to write to a beautiful Girl whom I love so much: for at night, when the lonely day has closed…then believe me my passion gets entirely the sway…”– John Keats to Fanny BrawneJuly 3, 1819

 “Christ, you’ll be the death of me”

soft intimacy, let me tell you……yeah, I don’t actually have anything other than saying soft intimacy

when he sings “unreasonable” and there’s that voice break and honest to god my heart goes akimbo and I have found out why it’s not beat properly since I first heard this song

“How unfair, how unfair they’ll sing as they dance across the darling rooftop wreck/He’ll trip and she’ll pretend not to have seen,/Burying her head into his chest and clinging to the moment, ‘where have you been?’/She’ll whisper ‘I’ve waited oh so long for you to come’/And as the stars above them hum and hear them he’ll turn to her and say ‘that’s what she said’” – !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

the whispered line of “You try so loud to love me” in “That Unwanted Animal”

1:34!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Cos if we join our hands in prayer enoughTo God I imagine it all starts to sound like applause.” followed by a laugh, oh god

the scream at the end – all the screaming – every single bit of it

the harmonies in “Marbles” during the chorus are so soaring-with-the-clouds beautiful

“You’re not flawed darling, you’re just a little under-rehearsed.”

my parents painted the family room of their first house lime green and my mom hated my dad for it and still brings it up 💚

“The minute I met you the colors of my life began to pour.”“I’m scared of the dark.”  

how it’s only Joey’s voice at the last “I will wait and hope” ;;;

the almost The Last Five Years feel of “Battle Cries”

“Come on love, please don’t startSing your notes, play your partThen we’ll leave. We were gods”“With you I could summon the gods and the starsWatch them dance out the plays that we wrote from the heartAnd we’d laugh at the ghosts of our fears. We were kids.”

“This isn’t a breakup, dear heart, it’s a season finale”  

[shardweavers]

Chapter 11 - Tense Negotiations

Emet-Selch awoke with a start, sweat on his brow, his golden eyes flashing open--and quickly recognized the room in the Pendants, felt the cooling pulse of his blood.

'Just a dream, then,' he thought to himself...perhaps it was silly to be relieved, but he felt so nonetheless. A quick glance downward confirmed for the Paragon that Shoto was still asleep in his arms...he let himself breathe out a soft sigh, his formerly racing heart returning to a normal and steady rhythm. He was glad, too, that his nightmare hadn't woken her, he found.

'...For convenience's sake, of course. She'd fuss if I woke her with a nightmare, and I'd grumble, and I'd be right to. Such things are beneath me.'

...The moment he thought it, he recognized that line of thought as complete rationalization. Convenience's sake, his foot. If anyone else had said something like that to him, he'd have laughed in their face, told them straightforwardly that they were deep in denial. The only grain of truth there was that he did resent the nightmare, because it was beneath him.

But he was glad he hadn't woken her because of the peaceful smile on her face, and the soft warmth of her body against his (her temperature had leveled out! It was nearly back to normal), and the desire to protect those things, to protect her , which was worming its way into his long-empty heart like a particularly pernicious flowering vine.

...He wanted to ask why. Shoto wasn't...

Hythlodaeus saw the color. So do you, his traitor mind whispered to him.

That didn't mean anything! Colors could be very similar, especially when one dealt with souls!

You started talking to her about the Bond of Eternity what, five minutes after your reunion?

It had been closer to three bells! And she'd asked! What was the harm in answering mortal questions?

You tell me, brilliant Angel of Truth.

Hades closed his eyes and growled wordlessly at himself to be silent--

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!!

The Ascian blinked in surprise.

'I didn't say anything! Or--'

The door made another helpful repetition of the sound of impact, accentuated by the sound of splintering and the glint of a blade piercing through the door. Ah. So this wasn't an errant accident of sorcery, or some problem presented by his newly sundered, newly limited form. No, this was because the door was under attack.

Now Shoto was stirring, although this was fairly natural given the circumstances. He gave the door a positively venomous glare as he began to extricate himself from the sleeping embrace he'd ended up in with her...

'Very well then, my old friend. You promised I could still make nations tremble,' he thought in Elidibus' general direction, a cruel smirk creasing his lips. 'Let's see how true that is.'

* * * Ice had tried the doorknob exactly once. It was locked and not willing to budge, which only contributed to his state of fury. After that, he decided not to bother with the door. He'd apologize to Shoto later. He'd even craft her a new door, a better door. This one had to go.

He slammed his axe into the door's latch mechanism, bringing it down like the knob and the lock were a gremlin in desperate need of smiting. The lock shuddered at the first several strikes, and then gave way completely--but the latch was still stuck. Snarling, Ice grit his teeth and violently slammed his foot into the door; the door creaked in protest, and he heard wood snapping.

With one more mighty blow of his axe, the door was shattered in two pieces, and Ice leapt into the room, his voice a roar. "EMET-SELCH!!! FACE ME, YOU COWARD!!!"

The object of his challenge... looked up from the bed, where he was bent like a vampire over Shoto's slowly stirring form. Like he'd...!!

Ice's anger hit a new fever pitch, one he hadn't known existed. Nothing could hold him back now. "Holmgang! " he invoked, the command word seething with magical power--golden chains, lined with an aura of fire, wrapped around Emet-Selch's arms, binding the Ascian in place, keeping him away from Ice's friend, though he was still far too close...

Ice could split the difference. He invoked the rite of Nascent Flash, his aether surging through the earth to flash a bright green, vaguely dome-like envelope of energy over Shoto's form momentarily. That'd protect her; now he could focus on Emet-Selch...!! His axe sparking along the floor, he charged.

Hades' eyes narrowed and flared with energy as his own aether surged with power; his dark lips moved, impossible words spilling from his lips, the ancient incantation finding form as tendrils of shadow that blasted outwards in a cone, slamming into the axe and stopping its mighty swing cold, several fulms from the Ascian's body. He cracked his neck and the golden chains snapped.

"I might've known it'd be you, little Warrior," the Paragon drawled, his voice dripping with contempt. "Careless, hotheaded, eager to please your accursed Mother. Tch. Perhaps you might try cooling your heels? Using your words?"

"SHUT UP!" Ice snarled. "I'll kill you all over again for what you've done to her...for how you used him...!!" He brought back the axe and an aura of aetheric power flared around his blade as he struck from another angle; the Ascian snapped his fingers, and sparks flew from the impact point as it met a barrier of violet shadows.

"Or, I suppose, you could spout nonsense at me, and we could be reduced to barbarism," Emet-Selch sighed, rolling his eyes. "I've done nothing to anyone, fool."

"LIAR!!!"

The aether around the axe-blade flared to a brilliant blue zenith, seared like a white-hot flame as it released in a single, violent cleaving motion that tore through the barrier of shadow; the swing had lost its momentum, though, and only nicked Emet-Selch's cheek, bringing a bright red line of blood from the Ascian's skin, dripping down his face.

The teeth of the Paragon ground together.

"...But if you are going to insist on being a violent cur," he hissed, "I'll gladly discipline you."

Shadows swam around the Ascian, and for a moment his form seemed massive, inhuman, horrifying--then they solidified around his right arm, burning black and red, forming the mighty claw of his Elder Form. With an effortless swipe, he slashed across Ice's chest, shearing through the thick leather, and sending the Warrior flying into the wall with an enormous crash. Bowls and plates left on a nearby table tumbled to the ground.

Ice's vision swam, and he coughed. His ears were ringing--he heard someone calling his name. Had to get up.

Shoto's awakening, if it could be called that, was both rude and violent, but it was also slow. She recognized the sounds of a fight before she was fully awake--it made her ears back and her hair stand on end. As her eyes opened, blinked through the cobwebs of sleep, she was already trying to scramble out of bed, fighting the covers...her mind spun as she tried to orient herself, figure out where she was and what was happening more fully.

It was the exchange of words between Emet-Selch and Ice that jogged her groggy memory--she'd overdone it, collapsed, fallen asleep against the Ascian; her face flushed at the realization, but adrenaline overpowered embarrassment or her emotional turmoil. She had no idea how Ice had gotten in here, but that wasn't important right now; scrambling to leave the bed, she made it instead to the floor, on one knee; raising her hands, she looked between Ice and the Ascian to try and calm the situation down.

"H-Hold! Both of you--Ice! Please, just listen--"

"Run, Shoto. Get away from this monster... I'll keep him occupied!"

The Warrior was too dazed and far too angry to turn his attention away from Emet-Selch; being thrown into the wall and the table had only solidified and redoubled his fury. He shook his head to clear it, then used his axe to stand up once more; his expression hardened with resolve. Emet-Selch had proven himself just as dangerous as he ever was, and Ice meant to answer him in kind.

"That's not..." Shoto began, but Ice charged forwards once again; a red, aetheric aura swirling around him as his eyes flickered red; he brought down his greataxe in a wide curve, merciless, towards Hades.

The Ascian sneered and snapped his fingers. A shield of dark violet energies, seething and hissing, met the greataxe's blade like a wall. Emet-Selch wasn't done; whipping up his other hand, he gestured sharply with two fingers, his dark-tinted aether surging around him as ornate circles of Amaurotine glyphs formed in mid-air...

Bolts of dark violet, almost crystallized energy were loosed from each circle like missiles, flying at Ice; they struck with explosive force when they hit, driving the Warrior back once more and turning the already damaged table and chairs into confetti. Shoto's ears were ringing, and her vision swam.

It was into this melee that Angel was thrust when he arrived, breathless and shaking; his husband's charge and the destruction of Shoto's door had drawn the attention of half the Pendants, and Angel had been forced to push past several valid, groggy inquiries from their neighbors. But like Ice, Angel's focus was razor-sharp; the White Mage had broken into a sprint when he saw the destroyed door, and he nearly tumbled over the threshold...his eyes snapped to his husband before he even registered Shoto or spoke a word. Before he could, however, Emet-Selch snapped his hand across in a savage chop, and a wall of shadowy projectiles seemed to form, thrumming in mid-air.

"Angel...No! GET DOWN!!" Ice shouted; leaping between Angel and the incoming bolts, he concentrated his aether into a sphere of crimson energy, golden thorns seeming to encircle him and crackle off his form as Hades' shadowy energy blasts slammed home. They hurt, especially now that he was taking the full force of the assault, but far less than they might have; he could simply shake this damage off. 

"Ice...! I-I've, I've got you!" Angel managed; with a gesture, his cane was in his hand, and magical words of healing left his lips, the soft blue light of his White Magic seeming to gently wash away Ice's wounds. The Warrior cracked his neck and gave a confident smirk to their opponent, whose eyes only narrowed in scorn.

Shoto coughed from the floor and struggled her way to a standing position, trying to wave away dust. She opened her mouth to demand they lis--

The glowing form of an Emerald Carbuncle soared through the room towards the Ascian's face, its tiny claws swiping across his cheek before the Paragon could counter, leaving him to stumble back and send a blind lash of shadowy power in its general direction. The nimble familiar dodged, weaved, and leapt back to the side of Yuki, the Summoner already unfurling her grimoire as she stepped through the ruined doorway; her violet-haired Dragoon compatriot rushed in after her, calling his spear out of the aether as his armor clicked into proper place.

"Not every day a nemesis comes back from the dead," the Viera quipped under her breath to Sumire, before her attentions were consumed with calling ruinous energies into her fingertips, her hand weaving arcanima patterns; a massive burst of the energies screamed towards Emet-Selch, who barely managed to stop it with a swipe of his left hand. His glare had shifted from scornful to murderous....

And as they watched, his lips curled into a cruel grin.

"Fine. All of you, then," the Ascian purred. 

He raised his right hand and languidly circled his wrist three times, cracking his neck. And then he snapped his fingers, sharply.

Panels of dark crystal, perfectly cut into squares, formed at his command, like doors in reality. A moonlight glow built in them all as they arranged themselves into a lethal array. Shoto's eyes went wide and she built her voice to scream, this was too much, they had to stop, everyone had to--

The array fired, beams of shadow screaming towards the assembled Warriors of Light and Darkness, save Shoto, and would've torn through armor and flesh had it not been for a brilliant sky-blue barrier of burning energy, a sanctuary amidst the storm, emanating from Angel's aether and the shining, beacon-like zenith of his cane, his White Magic redoubling to keep his companions safe from harm, though it only kept safe about a fulm's length all around them.

The bench to Angel's left hadn't been so lucky, the beams having carved it neatly into two pieces. Nor had Shoto's armoire--the same dresser that Shoto had fetched her sheets from and Emet-Selch's current attire was now full of smoldering holes. Nothing in the entryway was in decent shape by any stretch of the imagination, and the fight didn't seem to show many signs of letting up; indeed, Hades, his amber eyes glowing and a soft, almost soundless chuckle coming from his lips, had raised his fingers and snapped again.

Another array of arcane projectiles, forged from those same ornate gates of shadow in the air, beckoned to his call. Despite the sounds of armored boots in the hallway, and shouts of "Wicked White!" and "in the name of the Exarch!", Hades didn't stop--even as Crystarium guards piled into the room, he let the arcane arrows fly, leaving terrible wakes of violet destruction as they screamed down.

Angel squeaked and winced visibly in terror, but though his fear was evident, his willingness to stand fast and the magical asylum he was providing with his shield of light only redoubled, the field widening; he knew the only real course of action was to make sure the shield encompassed everyone and stayed solid, and though it meant he couldn't move, though he was staring death in the face, he didn't falter. Ice swung his axe to deflect an incoming bolt, and Sumire leapt into action, three of the projectiles ricocheting off his spinning spear as he moved acrobatically. Even the little carbuncle contributed, leaping up to deflect one of the arcane projectiles with a shield of its own, so that once more the primary casualty was Shoto's apartment, as the damaged armoire was now turned into a mess of wood splinters and cloth, and a ricochet nearly took off the headboard of the bed.

But what triumph they had was short-lived. Hades' fingers snapped again, and another volley cracked Angel's shield; the energies wavered. The White Mage's concentration held it in place, but he was clearly struggling; there was no way the barrier would survive another round of attacks. Ice bit his lip as he looked over his shoulder at his husband, then his gaze flicked back to Emet-Selch--there was no opening to attack the Ascian just yet, a fact he could tell Sumire was grimly aware of too. Yuki was tracing arcanima patterns to call a large burst of ruinous power from her hands, but the Ascian had noticed this well enough, and looked to be calling his shadowy aetheric shield back into form...

Shoto's voice, after the cavalcade of interruptions, finally rang out through the conflict. "STOP THIS!" she cried out, standing up shakily and on unsteady legs, her eyes pleading with Emet-Selch, begging him to listen. Surprisingly, the Paragon's attention turned to her, wavered--

In a misjudgment worthy of the Azure Dragoon himself, Sumire took the brief opening, leaping and diving for the Ascian's position; indeed, he'd been so quick to leap, that the Scholar hadn't had time to register that he'd even moved. 

But his weapon didn't strike true. Hades swung up his hand and focused the shield of darkness around the driving lance-point, his eyes filled with cold aggravation as they locked with Sumire; the hapless Dragoon tried to drive his weapon through the Ascian's dark shield, to no avail. The Paragon's other arm shot up as he directed dark tendrils from the ground, and the Dragoon tried to propel himself back, but only ended up taking the shadow-tendril square to the chest. Yuki growled loudly at the sight, then quickly fired her gathered blast of energy as her carbuncle jumped forwards and spun to slash the Ascian. The blast was swatted aside by the tendrils, into the privacy screen by the door, which was now more a series of privacy splinters, while the carbuncle herself was knocked into Angel's barrier with a surprised squeak.

Angel's barrier shattered on impact, and the carbuncle hit him in the chest. He fell back onto the broken bench, which couldn't catch him properly. The White Mage landed on his knees with the carbuncle in front of him.

"Angel!?" Ice turned, forgetting the Ascian for a moment, to check on his husband. Angel was out of breath as he knelt on the ground. Ice lowered his axe, put a hand on the White Mage's shoulder, and felt him shaking a bit from having maintained that barrier longer than he should have. "Are you alright...?!"

Angel's ears pinned back against his head with his eyes shut. He shook his head in response, "No... No more... stop." His voice was barely a whisper. 

The guards were trying not to panic; one of them fired a crossbow bolt at Emet-Selch, which was cast aside by another tendril of shadow as the Angel of Truth closed his eyes in grim concentration, calling his dark arrows to him again. Sumire was standing up, painfully, Yuki's carbuncle covering him as the Summoner ran forwards and tugged Shoto back, trying to get her away from the zone of destruction that was rapidly enveloping the entire room.

Anubis growled in Angel's head, begging the White Mage to let him try and settle this.

《 Angel! Please! I know I might not win... but you know I can give enough time to turn the tide in our favor! 》

"S-Stop... please," Angel begged quietly, as he clenched his eyes tighter. 

At the same time, Shoto spoke the same words; desperate and loud. Ice stood and turned towards the Ascian, snarling; and once more, the Ascian snapped his fingers, volleys of destruction shearing down. The Warrior deflected a few more arrows that had been aimed towards the guards beside him; which completely disintegrated the bench nearby them and the couch behind them. 

The White Mage's ears flicked at a soft ringing within them; a sound he'd long-since associated with Anubis... along with the itchy feeling around his neck. He didn't want to set the room ablaze, nor try to freeze someone into a block of ice. Those desires and impulses weren't his, they couldn't be...

Anubis growled louder in frustration, then snapped sharply and loudly in Angel's head. 

《 Let me fight this battle for you! 》

Angel took a sharp breath in at those words, and it caught in his throat; his eyes suddenly flew open. Another arcane spear clipped his cheek as it suddenly flew past him; he should have dodged in fear, but he knelt there frozen and wide-eyed.

Words instantly came to mind, the name 'Asopus' was whispered into his ears. Another word bubbled up... A name he felt he hadn't said in a long time, yet did not recall naming any of his strays such...

《 Angel! Answer me!! 》

"A..."

The White Mage hesitated, but his husband flew past him once more, back towards the wall, slapped by one of the shadowy tendrils Emet-Selch was wielding, as the Paragon simply focused his shield of darkness against the full-strength cleave that Ice had brought down. The Warrior angrily got right back up, but he paused as he looked over to Angel. 

One word was cried out, echoing over the fighting in a scared and desperate voice. 

"Ambrosia!!"

In the midst of calling his mirrors forth again, Emet-Selch paused, blinking, distracted for the second time this fight. His thoughts of vengeance, the high of reveling in his own power, were cut off...that name. He knew that name. How...?

A quick, chimed bell echoed; it was similar in sound to a carbuncle or a faerie when they were summoned, but... the tone was more unique. In front of Angel landed the glowing, orange cat that Ice had recognized last night as Tora. Sumire and Yuki had stopped short as well, since it looked like the phantom cat that had led them to Angel last night. Shoto's own voice was stopped as she noticed the glowing, orange cat in front of Angel... who had confessed to strange creatures appearing around him.

Sharp bells followed the creature's swift leaps; the first was from in front of the visibly stunned Angel, directly at Ice.

The Warrior had every intention to return to the fight, but the ghost cat tackled him in the chest and knocked him back onto his ass; he landed on the remnants of the couch. He reached up to rub at his chest; that had felt pretty solid to be a "ghost"...

The creature's next two leaps were from Ice to the floor, then tackled the Ascian right in the upper chest. It had tried to hit his throat, judging by its angle. Emet-Selch had been distracted enough to take the full, rolling tackle, and bounced onto the damaged bed; which broke it completely. Between Ice and Emet-Selch, the cat seemed to gain two new tails. Its final leap was to keep one of the younger guards from taking advantage of the Ascian's stun and attacking him with a sword strike; and it seemed to gain some fluff upon impact.

The creature then landed between the others and a silent, stunned Angel; a lean, fluffy, orange creature with three tails and tiny paws. On its head was a golden triangle that faded into the orange by the time it hit the back. The creature's eyes were glowing a bright gold. It twitched rhythmically, echoing a carbuncle... but it was not one itself. Soft, soothing bells rang gently as it looked to Angel and moved its mouth, who seemed to hear something.

Tears fell, unbidden, from the Miqo'te's emerald eyes; he still knelt there stunned, and wide-eyed. After a moment's pause, Angel nodded once; the creature bounded over to him, then leapt as if to tackle again.

"Ang--" Ice started, but his husband held out his arms to catch it. It moved swiftly, but Angel somehow did just that. The mage felt the creature happily nuzzle under his chin before it disappeared into a burst of soft bells. His breath hitched as he forced himself not to burst into tears. He didn't understand why he felt this way, nor what exactly had just happened. Ice hurried back to his side, and put an arm over his back.

Emet-Selch stood up and recovered from the tackle. He moved to seize the moment, but immediately felt Shoto's arms wrap around his waist from beside him. When had she moved over to him? He was unsure... but there were tears on her face, and her voice threatened to break as she looked up to him. 

...He was suddenly aware that, now that he wasn't indulging in the power of his arcana...he felt...very tired. That had been...That had been all he could do, right now, like this.

"Stop it..." She couldn't watch him harm her friends; this was entirely her fault. She dropped her forehead against his chest as she held on. She tried to hide her tears, her voice quieted to a whisper " ...please. "

Sumire looked to Yuki, who was focused on the Ascian, and growling; neither of them knew what to do. Angel was still trying to deal with the sudden, strange, new feelings and emotions he couldn't place, with Ice's support. The guards, of course, were terrified, confused, and understandably on the defensive.

There was a moment of silence and stillness after Shoto's plea... then the tendrils and aura of darkness died down and faded away, the shadows around him melting like they'd never been there. His touch was gentle and unexpected; fingers moved under her chin to get her to look up at him. His thumb then moved across her cheek to wipe away some of her tears; his voice quiet, and barely audible, even a little brittle. "There's no need to cry, hero."

Immediately after his defenses were gone, another word was sharply called from behind the Crystarium guards.

"Break!"

Emet-Selch hitched as his body's movement was severely slowed. Violet and black swirls of energy clung to his legs. Immediately after, a sharp clang of metal against tile bound the Ascian's wrists together with blue crystal. Shoto stumbled back away from the Paragon. Angel jumped at the sudden spell. The guards turned, then stepped aside for the Crystal Exarch.

His guard captain, Lyna, followed him, the Viis blinking at the devastation that had been wrought on Shoto's corner of the Pendants. She whispered a quiet, surprised "Wicked White" to the scene.

The Crystal Exarch focused solely on Emet-Selch despite the work to keep him controlled. His face was quite cold; his ruby eyes glared piercingly through the Ascian as he stood powerfully before him. He stood between this threat and his friends as well as the people of the Crystarium. Everything in his stance showed this without a word spoken.

Angel looked up, focused on G'raha. Ice gently hugged him, and he leaned into his husband's protective hold, but felt like he needed to watch his friend standing before them.

"Is all of this really necessary, dearest Exarch?" Hades tried for bravado, but found his own voice felt surprisingly...petulant, given the situation.

"Pray forgive the abundance of caution," the Exarch's face was still stern, but a slight growl underlaid the rest of his sentence. "But you shot me in the back once before, and I thought it best to make sure history did not repeat itself."

Ice felt his husband jerk against him with a hitched breath and a squeak at the mention. Angel clearly recalled seeing G'raha drop in front of him, and he remembered feeling suddenly very cold... and he knew he'd called out his name, but... he remembered nothing else. Ice; and the others; however would remember the momentary image of a Sin Eater that flickered over the White Mage's features. It hadn't been brought up again since it happened... The Warrior hugged the mage against him protectively, and whispered that it was okay. They weren't all on the edge of bursting with Primordial Light anymore, but Angel had just summoned a strange creature and could probably summon something else. Anubis would likely be very willing to set fire to the room; neither outcome was desirable at the moment. Ice tried to help calm him down while the Exarch dealt with the Ascian.

"...... Fair point," Emet-Selch replied flatly, after a moment's thought. He shrugged in an attempt to play it off a bit. He felt the exhaustion from pushing a bit too far with his powers at the moment--yet, he dare not show them any weakness in this moment.

Shoto spoke next, "This is my fault, Exarch," she turned to face him, "I never meant for things to spiral out of control like this." The female Miqo'te took a step forward, but faltered, and began to fall as she was still quite drained. 

Emet-Selch fought against his bindings in an attempt to catch her, but to no avail. Instead, the violet-haired Miqo'te, the Dragoon, managed to swiftly catch her before she could hit the ground.

"Careful, Shoto," Sumire said, his tone worried.

"Perhaps you should...erm...Yes, you should definitely sit down, Shoto," Yuki closed her grimoire, as her carbuncle moved to stand beside her. "You don't seem to be in any condition to argue," the Viera added sternly. 

Shoto frowned, but let Sumire help her stand for now. She stubbornly refused to sit on the only piece of furniture that seemed untouched; the desk chair.

"I would really, truly like to understand what in the actual Hells happened this morning," the Exarch looked over his friends as he sighed, bringing his crystalline arm up to rub his temples, and ignored the fact that his frustration had slipped through. He also forced himself to ignore that the door, and large portions of the room, were so completely destroyed they'd need to commission every Facet in the Crystalline Mean to repair the place.

It was enough that those he treasured were...alright. For a given value of alright.

Yuki and Sumire seemed okay, just a bit worn out from fighting. Ice looked injured, but no more so than from a normal battle. Shoto looked like she'd completely exhausted herself, but he had no idea why. The Exarch paused as he looked to Angel, who seemed almost completely frazzled just since yesterday.

"My lord," Lyna paused as she leaned a little towards the Exarch. Her voice was concerned, "I do believe we should continue this conversation elsewhere."

"I agree." He looked to Emet-Selch. "Lyna," she saluted at her name, "Take the prisoner into custody."

"Right away." The Viis gestured to two guards. Each guard moved to take hold of the bound Ascian's arms; she followed closely behind. Emet-Selch once more glanced over to Shoto in an attempt to observe the state of her condition. Their eyes met for but a moment; there was untold sorrow when she looked at him. Clearly, the Scholar truly blamed herself for this. He shook his head and simply smirked; for now, he would leave it up to her friends to care for her. 

The Crystal Exarch watched the Crystarium guards leave the room, then looked back to his friends. His voice softened a little, still clearly concerned. "Pray take your time to settle from all of this... but... there's much to discuss. I would have you all reconvene in the Ocular when you're ready. Our... guest shan't be going anywhere, if I have anything to say about it."

He waited just long enough for them to give a reply, then left to deal with the mess from this morning.

* * * It took a full bell before the whole group was settled into the Ocular. Most of them were now more alert and awake; Yuki and Sumire, specifically, had taken the time to get dressed, and now both sported their traveling attire. The Dragoon rubbed tiredly at his right eye as he stood beside the Summoner. Yuki's carbuncle bounced happily at Sumire's feet then moved over to Angel. 

The black-haired Keeper sat on the floor by the wall for the moment. The carbuncle hopped into his lap without pause, and Angel petted her gently. Ice stood beside Angel, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall. Shoto sat nearby on the floor of the Ocular trying to preserve her strength. After a few moments, the Crystal Exarch entered from the Umbilicus, then the door closed behind him. His staff was on his back, and he looked more thoughtful than usual as he moved over to his usual position before the mirror.

"I'm glad to see everyone is safe," he began. The Allagan Miqo'te flicked his ears as he once more looked over his friends; then sighed softly. "It is certainly unnecessary to speak of this morning's events. What I am puzzled about is the fact that a certain individual; slain only weeks ago by all of you; is now alive and well once more."

Nearly all eyes were suddenly on Shoto; she had loudly apologized and said this was her fault... but how was she going to explain this? The Scholar opened her mouth, but words wouldn't form. Instead, her mind was stuck on the Ascian; Emet-Selch. That same guilt gnawed at her, like a bile that wanted to come up into her throat. She'd chosen to heal his wounds, which had caused this whole situation. Emet-Selch had saved her, and he was now paying the price for her choice. Instead of continuing to fight the others, he stopped when she had pleaded and grabbed him. 

She looked around the Ocular, then words finally formed on her tongue, "...Wh-Where is... Emet-Selch...?"

The Crystal Exarch blinked at her question, taken aback. He actually looked to the others, as if he wasn't sure he'd heard her question correctly. Yuki frowned, as did Ice, neither of them were pleased about her first question. Sumire looked over to Angel, who was still half curled up with the carbuncle on his lap; he hadn't once looked up to the others since they settled in. The Exarch turned to look back to Shoto, but before he or any of the others could respond, the Scholar stood and used the wall to steady herself.

"I think it would be best if he were present for this, so we can all talk." She kept herself steady; her expression was serious.

The red-haired Miqo'te looked at her for a moment, as if he were still trying to gauge her or her request.

He sighed softly, then gave in, "Very well," He turned to look over to the Viis that stood guard over their meeting to make sure no one entered uninvited. "Lyna, if you would, please have your guards escort the prisoner here." Shoto visibly cringed a bit at the word 'prisoner', but the captain simply saluted, then left to give the orders. 

* * * Half a bell later, Lyna returned with Emet-Selch in tow. The Ascian gave no resistance; in fact, he walked almost casually behind her. Ice stood up straight, visibly tense, beside his husband--it took something of an effort not to call forth his axe, but he managed, focusing his gaze back to Angel and looking worried once more. The mage had been silent the whole time, and just petted the curled up carbuncle on his lap. 

The Angel of Truth, with an air of lofty dignity, ignored Ice--he ignored everyone in the room, for that matter--save for Shoto. His eyes looked directly to the Scholar; once his eyes fell upon her, he seemed clearly relieved, understanding at a glance that her condition was now much more stable. His smirk became genuinely softened for a moment, and some of the harshness went out of his demeanor.

The Exarch noted the exchange with interest, but he refrained from making a comment for the moment.

"That will be all, Lyna. Thank you." He nodded to the guard captain, who gave him a slight bow in response.

"Yes, my lord." The Viis turned, then stepped outside the Ocular to keep guard. Shoto eyed the restraints, still on his wrists; they looked to be some kind of enchantment. She frowned, then looked to the Exach in a silent plea for him to allow an exception in here. It seemed like the Crystal Exarch didn't understand her look at first. She looked back to the Ascian, almost apologetically.

G'raha grit his teeth, then tapped his cane on the ground, and the restraints around his wrists disappeared. Without looking back to the Ascian, the Exarch focused on Shoto, and spoke calmly and succinctly.

"Now, Shoto, pray, tell us what happened."

Shoto looked to her friends before her, then briefly wondered where she should even begin. "I guess... I should start... w-with the aftermath of our... struggle in the Tempest, at the Dying Gasp," she frowned, as she glanced to the Ascian. She looked immediately back to her friends as she took a breath, "Ever since then... I've felt... an emptiness; a guilt."

The Ascian raised an eyebrow at her words, sparing a glance to the Scholar. 

Guilt...? For my sake...? He then shifted quietly in his spot where he stood, and continued to listen; acting as if her comment hadn't piqued his interest.

Shoto turned to more properly face her friends and the Exarch. She ended up taking a few steps towards the Ascian before she continued, "Last night, I brought a badly injured shoebill back to my room to heal him so he could fly again... and--"

"That bird was an Ascian in disguise?" Yuki frowned, as she looked to Emet-Selch. He gestured nonchalantly with his hand, as Shoto just nodded in reply. Sumire looked over to Shoto, then reached up to rub at his right eye again; the tip of his tail flicked against Yuki's coat beside him. He seemed to find it hard to look over in that general direction.

"If you recall, both Angel and I noted how badly injured the bird was," she glanced over to Angel. Though he still hadn't looked up, he nodded once when she paused. "His injuries were just as bad, even in this form." Shoto looked up to Emet-Selch, then paused before she continued, "He was in a lot of pain, and... a-and I," she looked away from him, to the floor, "I couldn't sit back... and just watch someone else die in front of me."

Angel's breath caught in his throat as he winced at those words. He closed his eyes tightly and hugged the carbuncle against him. She wriggled a little at the sudden hug, then nuzzled under his chin.

G'raha noticed Angel's flinch, and frowned sadly. He briefly recalled all the times he had found Angel curled up on blankets in the corner of the library tent of Saint Coinach's Find... reading books about Allag. How many times he'd sat and shared his own stories and knowledge with him. The Exarch's expression softened, and he thought about how vulnerable the mage looked right now; curled up and hugging a carbuncle. He hadn't noticed it before... because he hadn't taken the time to look; hadn't allowed himself that moment of vulnerability.

For Ice's part, he was completely focused on Emet-Selch at the moment; he hadn't heard anything to draw his attention to his husband beside him on the floor. His sudden voice drew everyone's focus back to the present. 

"I'm a bit confused, though," he pointed at the Ascian as his eyes narrowed, suspicious, "How were you so injured that Shoto thought you'd die if she didn't heal you?"

Shoto just blinked at his question; she hadn't thought to ask that last night, she'd just acted instinctively. The Scholar looked to Emet-Selch with a curious expression. He looked back to her, then sighed and gestured languidly, dismissively, with his hand once more.

"All of you did work very hard to put a rather large hole directly through the core of my body, if you'll recall, dear little Warrior. The kind of hole that kills people."

"But... that injury was already a scar when I healed you," Shoto replied, quietly.

The Exarch frowned, then returned his attention to the Ascian. "If that was the damage they had sensed, then we all would have known it was you when you fell from the rafters yesterday." His ruby eyes narrowed a little, "And I most certainly wouldn't have let you leave."

The Ascian gave a cold look to the Exarch, his gold eyes flashing, though he didn't engage the taunt. After a thoughtful moment, he gave a dismissive sigh, "If you must know, Elidibus and I had a bit of a... shall we say... spirited discussion before I arrived in your fair city, dearest Exarch." The Crystal Exarch remained silent in response.

Ice still felt suspicious; he growled a little, then crossed his arms over his chest, "So you expect us to believe that you and Elidibus are no longer on good terms...?" 

The Ascian gave him another sort of shrug, "You asked how I was injured, hero, I merely answered your query."

Ice opened his mouth to respond, but Shoto held her hands up to try to refocus the conversation once more. "What matters... here... is that I healed him yesterday," Shoto took a breath, "I had healed him just the point where he'd have to naturally mend the rest of the way with time." She looked over to Angel once more, "That was before Angel arrived with the medicine and food."

"So," Yuki looked rather unamused, "...at what point did we get to Ice waking up our side of the Pendants in a rage this morning?" The Viera looked between the five Miqo'te and the Ascian in front of her. Her attention was drawn to the White Mage when he drew himself further into a ball.

"Th-That.... w-was... m-my fault," Angel mumbled into the carbuncle's back. Ice blushed a bit in embarrassment at having woken up so many people, but he cleared his throat, then turned his head to look back to the Viera.

"Despite what he says, that was not his fault," Ice immediately defended, "My husband simply told me that an Ascian had spent the night in Shoto's room and I rushed there to save our friend."

"So," Sumire rubbed at his right temple a bit, "Last night... Angel left Emet-Selch alone with Shoto, then passed out in the hall by their room." Shoto blinked, then looked to Angel, who still had his face buried in the carbuncle he was hugging. G'raha looked a little surprised, then also turned to look back over to Angel, but the Scholar beat him to speaking.

"Angel," Shoto's tone was very worried, "what do they mean you passed out in the hall?"

"I-I don't," he shifted the carbuncle so he could look up to Ice, then over to Shoto. The mage also noticed G'raha's worried look and felt even more apologetic. Ice turned to look down to his husband for a moment, then looked back to Shoto.

"He told me that he had a vision from the Echo in your room last night. It seemed to be a pretty intense one. On his way back, he just sat down to rest in the hall, and fell asleep." Ice sounded slightly defensive, then looked coldly at Emet-Selch, "What I didn't understand what had happened to trigger something bad enough to give him night--"

"I-Ice, please," Angel reached up to grasp Ice's hand; to interrupt his husband.

Shoto looked worriedly at her friend. G'raha's eyes widened a bit. Yuki closed her eyes with a frown, and Sumire frowned worriedly. Context had given them all a good idea what the word was that Angel had interrupted.

"Sh-Shoto, continue, i-if you don't mind...?" The White Mage gave them a weak smile when he looked over to the Scholar.

Shoto gave him a very concerned frown, but nodded and continued to explain. "After... After Angel got to the room, we had a conversation on the balcony. We started talking about the strange things we've both been noticing around us... and... about how we sort of felt stronger... ever since that fight," she paused, then glanced to Emet-Selch. "Well... we.... didn't have any other ideas... so," she looked back to her friends, "So we decided to ask him about the things we'd started to notice."

Ice looked back down to Angel. The mage nodded silently, then looked back down to Yuki's carbuncle. The Warrior finally understood what had brought up the topics Angel wanted to talk to him about last night... the topics that seemed to give him night terrors that he hadn't had in a long time.

Ice felt like now he knew why he'd had them... the Ascian that had caused him so much pain. The Warrior grit his teeth, but he felt his husband squeeze his hand more insistently in an attempt to calm him a bit.

Shoto noticed his expression. "Ice...?"

"So... what... did he say?" Ice asked; he barely kept himself from growling. He pointedly avoided asking Emet-Selch anything directly for the moment, and focused on Shoto. He felt the anger burning within once more. Shoto flicked her ears, worried about how Ice seemed ready to restart the fight that had happened earlier. 

"That... our souls... had gained... another shard... since that fight," she tilted her head a little, "probably during that fight." She gave Ice a small smile, "Do you remember during our talks afterward? When we all admitted we'd each seen one of the Warriors of Light from the First back then...?" She trailed slightly.

Angel then spoke up to try to help keep the conversation going. He still held Ice's hand, and could feel how tense the Warrior was. "Wh-When they... lent us... theirrr strrrength... to... surrrrvive," he looked down to the carbuncle in his arm, "i-it's possible... they werrre... o-ourrrr soul sharrrds... h-herrre... on the Firrrst." Shoto nodded immediately.

The Exarch blinked, then looked to each of his friends at that; they had told him about the phantom Ardbert that followed Shoto, but hadn't previously mentioned the other four Warriors of Light. Yet... these suggestions made a lot of sense. If their souls were fragmented the same as the worlds, then it stood to reason that fragments of them would exist on those worlds. He found that he didn't question any of it with everything he knew to be true. The Allagan Miqo'te looked down to the design on the floor of the Ocular, depicting the Source and its reflections.

Emet-Selch once more raised his eyebrow at their conversation. This was a bit more direct than they'd mentioned last night, and his suspicions felt validated. Those Warriors of the First must have been their soul fragments, that was the only explanation for what he saw before him at the moment: five glowing souls, eight times rejoined, without a Calamity on the Source. There was no longer any doubt; there was, however, concern.

Yuki wrinkled her nose a bit at the explanation, "Is that something he told you two?" She now also sounded more suspicious of the Ascian across from her.

The Paragon straightened his posture, then turned to face everyone else; he felt the attention in the room turn on him. Sumire once more looked over to Shoto and Emet-Selch, then made a face as he immediately rubbed at his eye again. Yuki finally turned to face him this time. 

"Are you quite alright, Sumire? You've been doing that since last night." Her question drew everyone's attention; everyone but Emet-Selch and Ice. The Warrior and the Ascian seemed to be staring at each other for the moment.

"I-It's fine, Yuki," Sumire moved his hand, then frowned at her, "My eye just needs time to adjust to the First's aether... It's just... acting up a little."

"Can you still see okay?" Yuki reached up to move his hair a bit so she could see his white eye. Shoto and Angel watched as Yuki aggressively doted on the Dragoon. 

"I can still see fine, I promise." Sumire reached up to gently push her hand away, "It'll settle by tonight, like always. It's just that everything seems oddly... brighter than usual."

"What are you doing to them?" Ice's deep, growled voice asked Emet-Selch. The Ascian cocked an eyebrow as he continued to look at the Warrior, rolling his eyes

"Not that you seem inclined to believe anything I say," he drawled, "but I meant what I said, and I said what I meant, my axe-wielding friend. I haven't done a thing to you or any of your friends outside of the lovely little skirmish--"

"You're the only thing different since yesterday." Ice replied as he stepped forward; his hand pulled free of his husband's grasp.

"You chopped down the door of the room I was sleeping in and attacked me. Like a primitive. I merely defended myself," the Ascian countered.

"You were-"

"Enough," the Exarch snapped sharply as his ears pinned back.

The Warrior and the Ascian both looked away from each other; Ice growled loudly in frustration, while Emet-Selch huffed almost primly. Angel stood up carefully and released Yuki's carbuncle. He then hugged his husband to try and calm him down.

The Allagan Miqo'te rubbed his forehead, then looked back to the Scholar. "Pray continue, Shoto..."

The female Seeker nodded, "Where was...? O-Oh right... Knowing... all of that, it's," Shoto paused for a moment, "it's likely that one added shard could have awakened some long-forgotten abilities in our souls," she gestured to herself, then Angel, "which explains the strange things we kept noticing around us." 

The Crystal Exarch brought a hand to his chin in thought, "In any other circumstance, I might be disinclined to believe you," he lowered his crystal hand, then looked at it for a moment. "But I find that I don't question anything you've said thus far. Perhaps it's a result of everything we've been trying to accomplish since..." He stopped, not wanting to say much more in front of the Ascian that he still wasn't sure what to do about. Aside from the fight he stopped this morning, he hadn't made any further efforts to cause trouble nor run off. Emet-Selch found himself being stared at by the Exarch, and just cocked an eyebrow in response.

Angel flicked his ears, then looked back to his friends after the silence. "I-I'm starting to worry... that i-it's just... m-me and... Shoto," he frowned, then looked to Sumire, then Yuki, then finally up to his husband that he still held onto, "Has... a-anyone else... noticed... a-anything?"

Ice looked over to Angel, then relaxed slightly as he hugged him back. "Sorry, love," he shook his head a little, "but aside from last night, nothing else has seemed odd. Just sort of feeling generally stronger, as I've answered you before." He looked back to Sumire and Yuki, wondering about their responses.

Yuki shook her head, "Nothing has been weird. Just noticing Shoto's moping about, mostly."

"H-Hey!" Shoto pouted, "I don't... mope." The Scholar argued the term, but it wasn't entirely inaccurate. She'd had days when the guilt and sadness just hit her like a load of bricks... she could see how that might have come across as moping to someone else. Yuki just made a face at her. It was sort of hard to read, but it felt worried to Shoto.

"Sumire...?" Ice asked, as he gently hugged Angel again, reassuringly. The Dragoon looked over to him in silence for a moment, then shook his head a little.

"I've felt... tired." He shrugged a bit, "Maybe a bit more than I used to, but it's probably nothing. I've tried to train harder, I'm probably just overdoing it."

"You overslept yesterday and were exhausted by the time we were finished speaking with the Exarch," Yuki frowned. Sumire took a breath, then sighed.

"Some days are just like that... If it's true that we all gained another fragment of our souls... maybe I just need time to adjust to it...?" He made a face, then looked over to Shoto and Emet-Selch again. With a wince, he reached up to completely cover his right eye with his hand. He mumbled to himself, but Yuki still heard him, "Maybe I'll just cover it until it adjusts... "

Angel wasn't sure what to say. Their friends would have surely mentioned odd manifestations if they'd have seen them. Much like the orange carbuncle-like creature; Ambrosia; that had appeared during the fight. It sounded like Ice, Yuki, and Sumire just felt a bit stronger, if anything, but nothing else notable had happened. He buried his face in Ice's chest with a quiet sound of frustration.

Shoto also seemed concerned about the updates, and bit her lip. "W-Well," she started, "I had... similar thoughts. I've felt stronger... s-so maybe... my magic is too, and," she trailed off as she blushed. Angel turned his head to look at her. Ice just frowned; Angel's words from this morning replayed in his mind--they had been strikingly similar to Shoto's.

("...I-I've felt stronger too... W-Well, specifically, I-I guess, my magic.")

Yuki's carbuncle hopped over to Shoto. The Scholar squatted down to pet her as Angel opened his mouth to speak, but Ice spoke first.

"...and you thought you'd test it out," he stated, then glanced back down to his husband. The White Mage blushed, then glanced away silently. Shoto looked surprised, but nodded as she focused on petting the carbuncle at her feet. An audible sigh drew attention to Yuki, who now had her arms crossed.

"Really, Shoto, that's irresponsible even by Ice's standards."

"Yeah," Ice agreed, as he looked back to Shoto, then paused, "Wait..." 

He turned to look back at Yuki to argue her wording, but the Ascian actually laughed, smirking widely, and spoke before the Warrior could. "Praise Zodiark, someone else understands~!" He moved to get a little closer to Shoto, but was stopped by a sharp, cold look from the Exarch. His expression said it would be unwise to move any closer than he already was; the Ascian remained where he was and just gave a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms.

Shoto stuttered to speak again, "I-I just thought... I'd see if... maybe... I could... mend the wound... to full?"

Angel jerked at the suggestion, he turned to look at her and spoke sharply, and in disbelief, "Sh-Shoto!?" Ice let go of Angel when he took a worried step towards his oldest friend. "That was far too much damage to heal alone and all at once!"

"But I did it!" She immediately argued. Eos popped up beside her in a swirl, and nodded fervently as if trying to back her up, then landed on the back of the carbuncle to sit. Angel made a concerned face, then looked to Emet-Selch; the Ascian paused, then nodded in response.

"She did," he crossed his arms with a quiet sigh, "Although, I tried to warn her not to push herself like that."

Shoto looked puzzled for a moment. Had he tried to warn her? As she thought for a moment, she recalled the voice she heard telling her to stop... A look of realization crossed her face and the Ascian near her frowned a little.

"You pushed yourself to the level of Aetheric Exhaustion. If you will recall how 'fine' you claimed to be before you collapsed on me."

"Ae...ther..." Angel's voice was faint, and didn't even finish the first word. The condition was one both Ice and Shoto knew he'd had personal experience with. The former through an explanation from the latter; she'd been around when he had pushed himself that far.

It wasn't just his experience right now, though; the term brought back the feelings of his nightmare from this morning. He heard a distant, quiet bell at the edge of his hearing. The mage's voice returned; quiet, a bit shaky, and full of concern, "Shoto, a-are you c-certain you're alright...? It... I-It normally takes... days t-to recover... from that..."

It was clear that the mage spoke from experience. The Exarch blinked, then looked worriedly to the White Mage. Emet-Selch also cocked an eyebrow. Yuki wanted to point out once more that these two were too much alike, and it was clear on her face as she gave a look to Shoto. The female Miqo'te nodded her head to Angel, then raised her hands to calm things down before they could escalate again.

"Yes, yes, I'm a bit tired, but I feel fine. I promise!" She blushed, then lowered her arms, "That's... That's why I said... h-he... saved me... last night," she trailed slightly, as she felt a bit embarrassed to admit that she'd so direly misjudged. 

"...Even if... he did help you," Angel's tail curled against his own leg as he took another step forward, "Are you... really okay enough to be up...? I'm amazed you're even conscious if..."

"I will be fine to travel," She interrupted him, giving another reassuring smile. "We're not planning on fighting, just traveling to Kholusia, right? There's a boat ride involved in that. I can rest on that." She smiled reassuringly, "I promise I'll take it easy, okay?"

"And what about him, Shoto?" Ice glared at Emet-Selch, "Are you suggesting we just let him... tag along?" Ice was clearly not pleased. He crossed his arms over his chest and continued to glare at the Ascian. Shoto didn't have a response, but her lack of immediate denial admitted she'd been thinking that.

Emet-Selch scoffed, a slow, smug grin creeping over his features, "I can do whatever I please, my dear friend," he replied, clearly pleased to continue needling Ice. "I daresay it's not your call to make." Ice growled in response, but the Ascian just continued to grin.

"You would be correct. It is not Ice's decision," the Exarch took a step forward, "But it is mine." 

The Ascian shrugged dramatically, shaking his head. "Yes, yes, render unto His Radiance what belongs to His Radiance and all that. Whatever, then, can I do to convince you of my sincerity, o wise Crystal Exarch?"

G'raha gave a soft sigh then put a finger to his chin, thoughtfully; he didn't reply immediately... but Shoto heard Emet-Selch speak again, soft and sibilant.

《 If you know anything I might use as leverage with our Allagan friend here, my dear hero, I'd be much obliged...I'm quite serious about traveling with you, this time. If nothing else, someone needs to protect you... 》

Shoto blinked and her head whipped towards Hades, her expression confused and her cheeks slightly pinker. She'd heard him speak, but the others hadn't reacted?

《 Well, that's because they can't hear me. They aren't connected, the way we seem to be, now are they? 》

"Wh--What's connected?! Connection?!" Shoto blurted out.

...Ice, Yuki, Sumire, Angel and the Exarch all looked over to the Scholar as she felt heat build in her face like a bonfire, and the Ascian rolled his eyes. Then the five looked at one another.

"Shoto..." Yuki began, the Viera cocking her head to the side. "No one...mentioned a connection? Except, maybe...going to Kholusia would count? ...Are you really sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," Shoto insisted, pursing her lips and crossing her arms. Ice glared suspiciously at Hades and fought down a snarl; this drew G'raha's attention, and the Exarch loudly cleared his throat, as if to officially interrupt.

"Here, then, is an opportunity to demonstrate your sincerity, in some small part, Emet-Selch," he intoned, flicking his ears as his crimson eyes fixed with Hades' golden ones. "Perhaps you'd be kind enough to explain the strange occurrences that have been troubling Shoto and Angel?"

Emet-Selch actually brightened, giving a wide shrug and a personable smirk. "Of course! Simplicity itself, in fact, since as they mentioned, they consulted me beforehand...but I'm digressing, admittedly. Now, then." He held up a finger. "This is somewhat theoretical, but I believe that they, as a result of their eighth rejoining, have accessed creation magic."

"Creation magic?" Sumire asked, looking over briefly towards the Ascian, then back to Yuki, confused, "Like they always talked about everywhere in Amaurot?"

"The very same!" Hades smirked. "Admirably attentive, young dragon-slayer." He folded down his finger and then steepled his hands, looking over them at the assembled group. "Before anyone asks something terribly, mind-shatteringly stupid, like 'what do the words creation magic mean', let me go on to say that they mean exactly what they sound like. They are the act of calling aether into a solidified, true form, of creating through the sheer and precise imposition of will." He cracked his knuckles. "If I might demonstrate? I promise, I'll create nothing harmful."

The Exarch shrugged lightly, and Emet-Selch closed his eyes, drawing on the well of his aether...by the great God, it was depleted after that battle, though at least it wasn't completely exhausted...still, drawing on the arm of his Elder Form in particular, and his Mirrors of Utterance, had been an effort. There was more than enough for what he intended, though; he would focus on one of the first things young Amaurotines learned, food.

He closed his eyes, and snapped his fingers with his usual theater.

Out of nothingness, out of thin air, a table seemed to write itself into being, and then a silvery tea tray. Set on it was a porcelain teapot, filled with hot, steaming tea, and a set of matching cups...arrayed around the tea set were small plates of cakes, cookies, and pastries. As a last flourish, he added a vessel of sugar and a vessel of cream...perhaps it wasn't strictly necessary, but there it was.

There were gasps of shock and interest, and he waited for them to die down before gesturing to the set. "And there you have it. This very same exercise, with...some tweaking, was a simple, elementary act of creation taught to aspiring will-workers as one of the first pieces of their training in the arcane arts. In the days of Amaurot, it was hard to find someone who had no aptitude for creation magic, though...typically everyone had one specialty in which they truly excelled. " He smiled, a little wistfully...and seemed to notice Angel staring at the cakes, though the dark-haired Miqo'te blushed and looked away, shaking his head. "Such as, for example, your creation just now, the one called...'Ambrosia'."

"Wait a minute," Ice demanded. "Angel created that? That was a living creature--"

"Which is quite within the purview of creation magic," Hades replied airily. "It's much more complex than the food and the tea, to which you're all welcome, as it's not static, but it's quite possible." He smirked as if expecting a rejoinder...

Shoto gasped. "...That's how you were able to recreate Amaurot, in the Tempest!" she said. "That's why...Twelve Above," she breathed, imagining the sheer amount of effort it must've taken to build the great city that lay far below the waters, even as a shallow replica.

Hades' look of happiness was genuine. "Ah, you can catch on quite quickly! Yes, just so. It wasn't the work of a single day, but right you are."

"...Wouldn't the work of creation magic fade with the death of its creator?" The Scholar chewed her lip and looked both pensive and worried, a reaction that made the Paragon's smile fade to a melancholy look.

"In time, yes; a large-scale creation like my Amaurot would take some moons to disappear, but in the end all that would be left would be...the foundation upon which I built," he said, breezing over the details.

《 Another time, perhaps. ...Please don't respond out loud. Yes, I can hear your thoughts, and vice versa, it's really as simple as that. Don't be too alarmed, dear hero. 》

Shoto frowned to herself--she wanted to press him on it, even mentally, but her thoughts were already a mess, and she decided to let it go for now, but remember it.

"Yet its aether shows no signs of dimming," G'raha mused, looking over to the Ascian.

"That," said Emet-Selch, more grimly than he quite meant, "is not my doing. My death should've ensured its slow decline, and I assure you, I did, most definitely, perish there. Its preservation is the doing of another...and yes, likely another Ascian. Elidibus could maintain its presence quite easily, if he deigned to do so himself; even one of the lesser rank wouldn't find it too hard. At any rate, that version of Amaurot is no longer mine to command." He shrugged widely, languidly. "I am, believe it or not, in a position rather similar to all of you."

"If you died once, then you can die again," Ice growled. "Right?"

"Yes. Indeed," said the Paragon, raising his hands as if to say 'I yield' even as he rolled his eyes. "Very well spotted. But, truth be told, I really would prefer not to engage in another long, drawn-out, destructive conflict, heroes. Instead, might I not help you...? These powers of creation, your newly recovered legacy, might become quite dangerous to all of you without guidance...and I must stress, you still are broken, sundered souls. Though to be rejoined eight times is unprecedented, it's nothing like being completed. So, I offer you the tutelage of one of Amaurot's greatest sorcerers, for no cost at all."

Shoto raised her brow, though she seemed quite interested. "...You'd train us in the arts of creation? All of us?"

"All of you," Emet-Selch affirmed, spreading his arms. 

Angel's ears pricked to attention, his gaze focused on the Ascian, and Shoto looked thoughtful; G'raha fought down a grimace. Sumire frowned, then looked over to Angel and Ice rather than at Emet-Selch and Shoto. Yuki wore a very flat look on her face, as did Ice.

"What a godsdamned farce." Ice clenched his fists. "You tried this before, Ascian. You offered us help, you pulled Y'shtola from the Lifestream in a grand gesture of 'good faith' . And then, when it pleased you, you turned the tables on us without a shred of remorse and tried to slaughter us all! How do you expect us to suddenly trust you?!"

Shoto looked like she wanted to reply, but the Warrior had a point...the last time the Ascian had offered his friendship, he'd just as quickly rescinded it and deemed himself their executioner. Yes, he'd had his reasons, but...

The silence hung heavy in the room, but it was broken by Angel's hesitant voice, as the White Mage crept forwards to take a look over the tea set.

"Y-You don't..."

"Eh?" Ice turned to his husband.

Angel moved over to the table; took one of the small cakes from the tray, and looked at it. His voice low, and his face still seemed hesitant on the topic. "H-He's kept his w-word... and... he t-trusted us... last night. So... it's only f-fair... to rrreturn the f-favor."

The Miqo'te bit the cake before anyone could ask what he was doing or what he meant. He'd stuttered through, desperately forcing back his purr. He was quite nervous about eating anything, but Emet-Selch had eaten the food he had brought, and drank the tea he had made last night. He felt it was only right to accept something from him in return...

Besides all that, he was quite weak around sweets...

The Ascian's expression was one of surprise when the dark-haired, male Miqo'te picked up one of the cakes and ate it. A small genuine smile formed on his face.

Ice, however, was shocked that Angel ate the cake. "Angel?! What are you-" He cut himself off, as he thought about what his husband had said. Emet-Selch had been truthful in their encounters before, just circumstances had put them at odds. He pinned his ears back and he gave a frustrated growl. Angel did not eat any more nor take any of the tea... the cake had only been eaten to make a point.

Shoto actually breathed a sigh of relief, and then drew herself up to try and seem more authoritative towards the Ascian; it wasn't quite successful, and mostly drew a flicker of amusement that she felt through their mental connection, but she pressed on. "...You told me that you still seek the restoration of the original world, the Rejoining, but you believe it can be accomplished without unnecessary deaths, without the mass murder your kind has used before. Did you mean that?"

Hades nodded and spread his hand in a conciliatory gesture. "Yes, of course I meant it."

"...Swear that you did," Shoto said firmly, crossing her arms. "Swear an oath, on the memory of Amaurot, that that's your goal. If you'll do that, I don't care about any other hidden agendas, or ulterior motives, or secret reasons. Because I know if you break that word, it'll mean something."

For a long, long moment, Hades just stared at her. 

She couldn't quite tell what all the emotions were, even through the link they shared, the strange tether of fate and heart and mind; there was fear, and shock, and some degree of anger, but also pride, and relief, and joy...

Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke.

"I swear by the memory of Amaurot," he said, gravely and solemnly, "and by the souls of the Convocation of Fourteen, that a Rejoining without death or calamity is my goal. If it is at all possible, I will seek it. Is that sufficient?"

His aggrieved air didn't touch his eyes...Shoto felt he was almost smiling, behind a dour mask.

"...Yes," she answered. "...And you're going to tutor us in creation magic, still, all of us, like you said before," she added hastily.

"Indeed, indeed, yes, yes, yes," said Emet-Selch, all dismissiveness and rolled eyes once more, though he didn't sound insincere. "I promise, too, I will teach you, each in turn, all I can. It will be quite limited, given your souls' continued broken state, but. It will be something no one else can do." 

Shoto couldn't help but beam at this--here was an opportunity to learn something no one else could, a lost magic from millennia ago! "Wonderful!"

* * * Another, drawn out awkward silence fell after that settled... and just as it stretched a moment too long, the Crystal Exarch sighed heavily.

"Very well. I suppose such an oath satisfies me, too...as much as I can be satisfied, Emet-Selch. I want you to know, I mislike all of this. I'm not quite of a mind with Ice, but I'm not that far from his position, either." G'raha crossed his arms and shook his head. "But I'm not foolish enough to mindlessly challenge Shoto when her mind's made up...and Angel had a persuasive argument. So, then, here is what we'll do."

He pointed decisively towards the Ascian. "You are to remain with Shoto, Yuki, and Sumire, and travel with them to Eulmore, where you'll rendezvous with Alphinaud and Y'shtola. I believe in a larger group, you're less likely to be tempted by even small transgressions of your oath...and, being very frank, I don't want you near Ice and Angel, at the moment." His brows furrowed. "If I learn you've done anything to interfere with their work..."

"Yes, yes, I'm full aware. I want no part of the full wrath of the Crystarium and her master," the Angel of Truth assured. 

G'raha ground his teeth a little; he hadn't been exaggerating. Everything about this idea seemed wrong. He didn't want to agree to any of this--he would prefer to throw the Ascian in an oubliette and call it a day; but it was what it was.

"Ice, Angel, you'll continue to Amh Araeng as per the assignment we previously discussed," he continued. He didn't share what theirs was, and once he'd made his decisions, he looked to his friends. "Please use the devices I gave you if an emergency should arise... they should have no trouble with range."

"Understood," Yuki replied, then turned to Shoto. "You're certain this is what you want?"

"Yes," Shoto nodded. She stood firm. "He gave his word, and I want to hold him to it.

Yuki nodded with a frown, "Alright. Well. We'd best go gather our bags and head out to our respective travel points. Y'shtola's new findings in the Tempest certainly interest me." 

"Ice, Angel," the Exarch turned to them, "head to the Amaro launch when you've collected your things. Cassard has a caravan to take to Mord Souq today and has the space to take you along." He turned to look at Shoto, "Your group can head out to Tessellation and find Dadfort in Knot. He's promised a boat to Kholusia," his red ears flicked out to the sides. "Unfortunately, we're still working on repairing relations between the Crystarium and Eulmore... so, I cannot promise you he'll take you the whole way to the city." He looked apologetic, but Shoto shook her head and smiled at him.

"I-I'm just glad to have a transport arranged! Thank you so much!" She then looked to her traveling companions, "I know... I will slow our process some, from being irresponsible, but... you're all right. I should take my time to recover, a-and Emet-Selch said I'd be fine in a few days!" Shoto smiled, as she tried to be encouraging to her friends. "Besides, while there's a boat crossing, using Amaro in between should make the process a little faster."

"Hn," Emet-Selch put in. "How much do you trust these oversized goat-birds? Do you not have even one airship?"

"The Amaro will be fine," Shoto sighed, giving him a long look. "This is a diplomatic mission, and diplomats don't demand airship flights."

"You and I have met very different diplomats," Hades quipped in reply.

"That's probably true," she said simply. "Now, come along. If we're getting ready, you're getting ready, too." Shoto brooked no argument...she merely linked her arm with his and pulled the Ascian along as the group began to leave the Ocular; Ice shot one last angry glare at the Paragon, but said nothing.

As they left, Emet-Selch considered things. Things that were likely to give him a headache, and sooner rather than later. First, what had that blind sorceress found out in the Tempest? He couldn't think of what she could have learned that was new, he'd practically given them a guided tour of the recreated city...Unless...

Secondly and more immediately, he hadn't set foot in Eulmore since the project with Vauthry had borne fruit. He grimaced a little at the thought. Vauthry. Now there was a work he wasn't particularly fond of or proud of. And one that people might remember, especially that Elezen boy who'd caused such a ruckus.

This was definitely going to be a pain, wasn't it?

And yet, looking to his side, seeing the genuine sparkle in Shoto's eye, made something in his long-cold heart spark back to life. Something he hadn't thought along the lines of for far, far too long.

It'll be a torturous road, no mistaking it. 

But...I think she's worth it. 

PERFECT TEATIME!!!

Next time: DIPLOMATIC INCIDENTS!!!!

[brightbeautifulthings]

The Furies by Katie Lowe

"Every breath, every moment, possessed with an illusion of glamor, of filthy decadence, purely because it was ours, we two our own radical world, a star collapsing inward and bursting, gorgeous, in the dark."

Year Read: 2019

Rating: 3/5

Context: I received a free e-ARC through NetGalley from the publishers at St. Martin's Press. Trigger warnings: Everything, probably. Death, child death, parent death, car accidents, rape, violence, violence against women, abuse, abusive households, blood, fires, drug/alcohol use, grief, mental illness, depression.

About: After a tragic car accident claims the lives of her father and little sister, Violet joins Elm Hollow Academy, an all-girls private school most notable for being the site of witch trials and burnings a few centuries ago. Almost immediately, she finds herself drawn to a group of three girls--Robin, Alex, and Grace--who are part of an advanced, secret study group with their favorite teacher, Annabel. Though Annabel insists that witchcraft is little more than mythology, the girls decide to dabble, focusing their revenge on the men in their lives who have wronged them.

Thoughts: The Furies fills a desperate need in the dark academia genre for female main characters, and it has almost nothing but powerful, complex women in it, along with a side wlw relationship. I love novels about toxic girl friendships, and Violet and Robin's has all the hallmarks of love, infatuation, violence, and codependency. While much of the novel is about revenge against men (some in particular, but also as a whole), it's at least as much about how girls relate to one another, especially at that age, and how nobody can mess you up better than your best friend. I don't necessarily like Robin (or Violet), but I can see why they're drawn to each other. It's Whores on the Hill with witchcraft (only not as good).

However, the book isn't as strong in other areas. The writing is distractingly pretentious, with adult Violet pointlessly reflecting on past events. This is par for the course in dark academia, but when I'm reading The Secret History or If We Were Villains, I know in my head that it's pretentious, but I don't feel like it is while I’m reading because it’s just that good; it isn't taking my attention off the story. The writing in The Furies isn't quite good enough to pull that off, and it just comes off as overly wordy and shallowly philosophical. It also circles back too many times to Annabel's lectures, which are repetitive and not terribly enlightening. I may have enjoyed it more as a teenager, but as an adult, I've heard smarter people talk about more interesting things.

The plot is a little shaky as well. The novel starts with the startling tableau of a dead girl posed on a swing, and it's an image that haunts the entire novel and will probably survive long after I've forgotten the rest of the plot (along with the image of a bleeding wych elm--awesome). I was still with Lowe when the girls invoked the Furies to take revenge on Violet's rapist, with interesting consequences. (Is it magic? Is it coincidence? I like that the book never settles firmly on either side.) But from there, it gets a bit silly. The bodies pile up as the girls grow more confident in their murders (because it's a gateway thing, apparently), and it's less believable with each new body. For all the time we spend sloshing around in Violet's head, there isn't enough motivation for all the deaths.

My sense at the beginning of the novel, when Violet utterly failed to react to the deaths of her family members, was that the novel was trying too hard to be edgy, and it's my sense at the end as well. Every character is high on at least two substances all the time, everything reeks of rot (what kind of place is this?), and most of the mysteries surrounding the murders are left as just that. It's a solid premise that doesn't live up to its potential, but it's a first novel. I wouldn't be opposed to seeing how Lowe's talent develops in future books.