#and i know it must be pathetic and irritating in the ways it’s impacting some things

[owl-fruit]

,,,

[somnambulants]

i love your writing!! could you maybe do something with exes to lovers with nat?

word count: 3.9K notes: thanks for the request! i’m glad you like my writing! i also may...have started thinking about writing a second part because im super attached to this fic. let me know if thats something you guys would be interested in!

“Barton, you’re such a –“

Your world stops turning at the sound of that voice, everything else becoming static. It doesn’t matter that you’re standing in a room full of people that you’re supposed to be impressing.

It’s been over ten years since you’d last heard that voice.

Vaguely, you know that Captain America is speaking to you but the only thing you can pay attention to is her.

You turn slowly, and the second you lay eyes on her you know for sure.

It’s definitely her.

You see it the second she spots you too.

In all the time you’d known her, she’d always been so much more proficient at hiding things than you but you still see the way her eyes widen as she takes you in and the way her face shifts into something that resembles shock before she manages to mask it.

“Nat!”

You startle a little, having now somehow completely forgotten that Captain America was next to you and that you were in the middle of a tour of your new workplace the second you’d landed eyes on her.

Oh god.Your new workplace.

Your new workplace that was also clearly her workplace.

As she approaches, you futilely look for every possible way you can escape. “This is Y/N. Fury’s informant while Agent Emery is on reconnaissance. Y/N this is Natasha Romanoff.”

Natasha? Romanoff? Absurdly, you have the sudden urge to laugh.

She really couldn’t have come up with a better name after fleeing the country all those years ago? It’s a surprise to you that you hadn’t heard about her sooner with that alias.

Pushing that thought away and hoping that your face shows the professionalism you’re trying to convey, you straighten your spine and clear your throat. “Nice to meet you.”

Captain America’s eyes flick between the both of you. Maybe you’re not doing as good a job as you’d thought.

Natalia-Natasha takes the hand you extend to her and shakes it. “Likewise,” she says, and you hate the way your body still reacts to her voice all these years later; hate the way her touch still makes you feel.

Even more so, you hate that you don’t know what it is you’re feeling more of as you look into her eyes: fury or heartbreak.

She makes a flimsy –well flimsy to you – excuse and leaves the conversation after that. You watch her walk away, clenching the hand she’d touched into a fist as you resist the urge to put it through the wall next to you.

Somehow you think you’d have a hard time explaining it to the man still standing next to you, who is now watching you with a thoughtfully puzzled but not suspicious expression.

Not yet, anyway.

--

Your dreams that night are fitful and full of her. The first time you’d met, you’d been nothing more than children.

There are no children in red room though. Only fighters and a fighter, she definitely was.

You? Not so much. You’d never been designed to last more than a day in that place and you wouldn’t have, if not for her.

Natalia throws you back against the mat, again and then again and again. Each time you stand up with more difficulty until eventually, she throws you down so hard your vision blurs for a second.

You never had a chance against her, something you knew before you even stepped foot into the room and you know they must have known that too when they set you up against the most experienced fighter here.

It’s abundantly clear you’ve been set up to fail.

The next time she hits you, your legs give out beneath you and you can’t bring yourself to get up this time, even though you know what’s going to happen to you if you don’t.

You know how this works.

Bracing yourself for impact, you close your eyes and wait. It’s pathetic. You know.

The final blow never comes. When you finally crack open an eye, you find Natalia, arms crossed, just gazing down at you.

It might have been your imagination but her eyes don’t seem quite as hard as they had been before.

She extends a hand after a second of her just watching you and you watching her. A little part of you is convinced it’s a trick; that the second you take her hand, you’re going to fail whatever test this is.

Still, against your better judgement you take her hand and, rather than the macabre images playing out in your mind, instead she actually helps you stand, surprisingly gentle as she does so.

She gives you a second to reorient yourself and then her whole demeanour changes, turning cold and stiff as she crouches down back into a fighting position.

“Try again.”

Just as abruptly, you’re thrown into another and another. Quick flashes of the past that still haunt you.

Natalia taking you on your first mission.

Natalia holding your hand as you cried over the body of the first man you’d killed.

Natalia lying beside you on your mattress, running her hands through your hair gently when your nightmares became so bad you’d go days without sleeping.

Years and years of training. Years of bruises and broken bones. Mission after mission. Somehow, it’s all maybe not-quite worth it but it almost is – almost – because of her.

When you kiss her for the first time, you think that might be the first time either of you has had any control over what you do with your bodies. 

You can't remember a time where you'd had something you'd ever wanted and you wanted her so badly.

You can’t get enough of it. Or her.

And then, one day, you wake up and she’s just... gone. 

--

The next morning, feeling irritable and exhausted from your disturbed sleep, you walk into the avengers training room and find the one person you’d been hoping wouldn’t be there.

Of course, your mind spitefully whispers because of course it wasn’t enough for the universe to thrust her back into your life but it had to throw her in your face too.

When you enter, she has her back to you but you know she knows you’re there by the way her back stiffens slightly.

You watch as she stands up straighter at the words you throw at her back, unable to help yourself: “What is this? Babysitting duty? I think we’re passed that, aren’t we?”

She turns to you. “I usually come here early,” is all she says. She doesn’t respond to the bite in your voice.

You make a non-committal sound and then just decide to ignore her, stomping past her to make your way to the far corner of the room. You work by yourself in peace for about ten minutes before you hear the sound of footsteps and all of a sudden she’s in front of you.

“I need a partner,” she says. 

You have the urge to laugh in her face, before it strikes you how cathartic it would be to punch her right now, no matter how childish it might be, so you stand, letting the weight you’d been holding drop back to the floor with a loud thud, and follow her across the room.

You both crouch down in anticipation and you take a second to really look at her.

Her expression is unreadable. The pang you feel when you realise that surprises you.

There had been a time when you’d known her like the back of your hand and now she's nothing more than a stranger standing in front of you.

It hurts a lot more than you’d thought it would.

--

This continues for weeks. You don’t know why you let it happen but you do. You get up early; you go to the gym; you spar with her and then you fulfil the duties you’d been hired to do.

It’s almost easy to slip back into that headspace of your whole life revolving around her. Because it does. All you do is think about her when you’re not around her.

Over those weeks, you still barely speak a word to her because at least if you don’t speak, you have some kind of power.

To your surprise, she lets you ignore her, lets you pretend you don’t hear her whenever she speaks and you resent her a little more for that. You’d rather she hated you as much as you want to hate her.

It would make it all so much easier.

--

Eventually, though, you break.

You’re not strong enough to ignore your desire to know everything; to know how she’d ended up here. And why she’d clearly cared enough to stick around and try and save the entire world when you, a single person, hadn’t even been worth enough for her to stay.

“Why,” you pant, mid spar one morning. She’s kicking your ass, as usual. “Why here? Why the avengers?”

You’d sworn to yourself you’d never ask her this question but the yearning to know has been burning inside you since you’d walked into this building over a month ago now.

Equally as breathless, Natasha drops the careful façade she’d had up and looks at you with those eyes; the ones that could have made you do anything at one point in time. You’re not convinced they still couldn’t. “I wanted to do better… be better than what we were…. Isn’t that why you’re here, too?”

That answer hurts you more than any of the hits she’s landed on you this morning. And there’s been a lot. She’s still the superior fighter, even if she had left so long before you.

God, those words hurt to hear. Especially to have you lumped in with the clearly bad part of her life, whether it was her intention or not.

Maybe that’s why you say what you say next. Maybe there’s a little part of you wishes this whole situation would hurt her as much as it hurts you.

“How… uncharacteristic of you,” you ignore the last part of her sentence because honestly: you don’t know why you’re here. You feel like you’ve been lost and drifting your whole life and the only thing that had ever made sense to you was her.

You know your bitterness has bled into your voice with your words but you don’t make any effort to mask it. And if you can hear it, she definitely can too.

In the blink of an eye, she stops sparring with you, straightening up quicker than even you can catch. You let out a breathless huff of air as she grabs the front of your shirt pulling it so you’re forced forward until you’re almost nose to nose with her.

You hate that for a split second, before you can control yourself, you lean in slightly. As much as your mind can’t stand her, your body has no such feelings and it still wants her. You know you have no hope of hiding it from her so you don’t even bother.

“You don’t know me,” she says. The words come out of her mouth fiercely but the look in her eyes is soft, beseeching, like she wants you to hear her. “I'm not that person anymore.”

Like it matters.

It’s like you’re suspended in time for a second, and all you can think of as you look into her eyes is of the woman you knew.

You hate that you still miss her.

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes that you want to believe mirrors the torrent of emotions currently taking over you – the sadness, the anger, the grief – but you know better than to have hope when it comes to her.

You know all too well how it ends. And you’ve had enough of false hope.

Typically, in a fight, you know Natasha would come out on top – has every time -- but she’s never had your anger directed at her the way it is now and she isn’t expecting the way you’re practically vibrating with it as you shove her away, so hard that she stumbles backwards, only just managing to stay on her feet.

“Clearly,” you spit at her as you straighten up, and start walking towards the exit.

You know she’s still just standing there in the same spot. You can feel her eyes on you.“Yeah, run away,” she mutters under her breath.

It’s the first time she’s shown you the attitude you’d been giving her for weeks and her reaction is justified, you can admit it, but you don’t care.

You spin around, fury overtaking you as you advance on her until you’re pinning her against the wall behind her. “Sorry,” you hiss, glaring into her eyes. “I forgot you’re the only one who can do that.”

“That was different.”

You laugh. It’s not a nice one. It sounds like an injured animal trying to claw it’s way out of your throat. 

“Why? Because it was you doing it? Excuse me for not being —“

All of a sudden, she’s kissing you. Or you’re kissing her.

Either way, you’re kissing and you don’t know how exactly it happened but you know that you can’t get enough of her; can’t get her close enough even though there’s no longer even an inch of space between you.

She flips your positions, tugging you closer, and you’re abruptly bathed in cool air as she rips your shirt off you, shoving you against the wall.

Your heart picks up rapidly as she kneels in front of you, easing the rest of your clothes off in one fluid moment.

“I hate you. So much,” you tell her as you step out of your pants and it’s not convincing even to you. Still, you repeat it again and again as she kisses down your body – so tenderly and gently that your voice starts to wobble.

You hate it. You hate her.

She looks up at you from in between your legs, now on her knees. It’s such a vulnerable position that you find you can’t look at her and you have to close your eyes. Natasha digs her nails into your thighs as she forces them apart.

“Look at me,” she demands. Her grip tightens until you obey; you know you’re going have crescent shaped bruises tomorrow. Her gaze is soft and tender and just all consuming. You know there’s no coming back from it. You’d never had a chance, even back when you didn’t mind not having one. “Don’t look away.”

You don’t, not even when she finally, finally, touches you and your head falls back against the wall. 

You hold her gaze the entire time knowing how incredibly stupid this is and not caring at all about how much you’ll regret it later when you’re thinking straight.

--

And regret it, you do.

You stop working out early. You walk the other way in the halls if you see her. You know people are catching on that something is going on between the both of you; have caught multiple avengers giving you quizzical looks whenever you’re in the same room and it makes you feel even worse than before.

You channel all that regret into something more meaningful and commit to doing a damn good job at what you were actually here for. And you do. You can admit you do a fantastic job.

Every time you hand a report in or come back from a mission, you swear see a glimmer of approval in Fury’s eyes. Something you’d heard was notoriously hard to come by.

You must have done something really shitty in a past life though because after weeks of throwing yourself into your temporary duties, you walk into your temporarily office and are immediately flagged down by Fury, who debriefs you on the details of a mission he’s sending you on.

You’re thrilled for about three seconds until you see the name of the person you’re going with.

Agent Natasha Romanoff.

Fury is looking at you with a scrutinising expression when you look up from the file. Every time he looks at you it’s like he can see inside your soul. “Is that a problem?”

You grit your teeth and force yourself to smile. “Of course not, sir.”

--

It is a problem. A big problem, in fact.

You don’t speak to her on the flight there. Even though it’s only the two of you confined in the aircraft. You don’t even so much let yourself look at her. You can feel her looking at you multiple times, though, even though she’s piloting and should only be looking at the course in front of you.

There are no words exchanged between you all day beyond the times you absolutely have to speak. 

At least not until you reach the tiny hotel room you’d been given.

The second the door closes behind you both, she turns to you and opens her mouth and maybe it’s cowardly but you cut her off before she even start speaking.

“I’m going to have a shower,” you say and flee the room with your entire carry-on, worried that if you pause to sift through your things, she’ll keep talking.

Still in the same spot, the look on Natasha’s face when you emerge from the bathroom is full of clear exhaustion. You hate the way it makes you feel. Empty. Sad. It’s exhausting for you trying to convince yourself you hate her.

“I’m sorry I left,” she says and you freeze. “I wanted to come back. Find you. I just didn’t know - i didn’t know if you even wanted me to.”

You’ve wanted to hear those words for so long. Now you have you don’t know what to do. “Why did you leave?”

She hesitates. The look in her eyes tells you you’re not going to get a full answer. That as open as she’s trying to be, you still don’t get to know why she abandoned you. “It’s a long story.”

The evasion stings. “An apology means nothing if you won’t tell me why.”

It’s an unfair thing to say. You know that but you don’t really feel like being fair right now.

You chance a look up when she doesn’t respond and find her looking down at the floor. It makes you wonder what — or who — she must still be protecting by not telling you. 

It becomes apparent that she’s not going to say anything else after the silence between you drags on long enough that the tension in the air becomes almost unbearable.

You don’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing the tears in your eyes so you flick the light off and turn the lamp on your shared nightstand off, throwing the both of you into immediate darkness. It’s definitely too early to be sleeping but you don’t care.

Eventually, after laying there rigidly for what feels like hours and listening to the sounds of Natasha tossing and turning in the other bed, you finally fall asleep and are immediately thrown into dream after dream that quickly turn into fitful nightmares.

Nightmares that may be more aptly called memories. After one particularly bad one that thrusts you back into consciousness, you bolt upwards, still half asleep. 

You only narrowly manage to avoid bumping straight into Natasha, who’s hovering above you, because of her hand on your shoulder holding you in place.

You flinch away from her instinctively and she backs up to give you a little space.

The only sound in the room is your heavy and desperate gasping for air. Natasha, now perched on the very edge of the bed, bites her lip, looking at you as if she knows exactly what you’d been dreaming about.

She probably does. It doesn’t take a genius to guess.

“Are you –"

“I’m fine,” you say flatly. You stare up at the ceiling, absently counting the tiles as you try to slow your breathing.

You’re hyperventilating, you know it, you just can’t get yourself to stop. You’re also sweating, it’s disgusting. You can feel how all of your clothes are stuck to you. Your hair flattened to your neck.

If you hadn’t been dealing with this for so long, you’re pretty sure that you’d think you were having a heart attack instead of a panic attack.

But you have. Been dealing with it. It’s just something you’ve come to expect now. You just never thought she’d be here to witness it.

All of a sudden, as you’re still trying to calm your breathing, the bed dips below you.

Your eyes fly open in shock to find Natasha sliding onto the mattress beside you, still on top of the covers.

Gingerly, she rests her head on the pillow next to your head and fixes her gaze on the ceiling.

It’s slight but her hand brushes against your own a few minutes later.

You suck in a breath between your teeth, but despite yourself, you let her move closer, until she’s so close you’re almost touching, and you can hear her quiet breathing.

Against your better judgement, you let your eyes slip closed again. Seeming to understand you’re not going to push her away, Natasha shifts closer, until you’re both shoulder to shoulder, the way she used to lay next to you when you had bad dreams when you were kids.

She grabs your hand, and slowly, hesitantly, she moves it to her chest where you can feel her heart thrumming rapidly under your fingertips. Surprisingly, it still works; you breathe in and out, in out in out, in time with her heartbeat.

You must at some point fall asleep because all of a sudden you can hear birds chirping outside the window and the sounds of people outside in the street.

When you open your eyes, you expect to find the spot next to you empty and the covers unruffled, as if she’d never been there at all but to your shock she’s still there beside you, awake and on top of the covers.

The circles under her eyes make you think she must not have slept at all.

You slide out of the bed and head towards the bathroom without saying a word, where you turn the shower on and just sit under the spray for what must be at least an hour, letting the water run over you and trying not to think.

This time when you return, she’s gone.

--

The rest of the mission goes smoothly. If nothing else, you both work well together as a team. You can still read her movements like a book, and she knows to anticipate what you’re doing before you even know yourself.

The days go fine. The nights not so much. You don’t speak about it but every night you’re woken up by the same dreams and every night you wake up to find her kneeling beside you.

If you were stronger willed, you would’ve shoved her away the first time, but you can’t bring yourself to. Maybe it’s a little selfish but you can’t find it in yourself to care. 

The last night of the mission is when you finally break, though. Something shifts in the air when you wake yourself up gasping and meet her eyes. The same eyes that had been blank and lifeless in your dream. 

You know she feels the shift as well by the way she’s looking at you, cautiously hopeful.

You don’t say anything though and neither does she. You just lay there, side by side, and watch each other carefully for what could be seconds, or it could be hours.

Her eyes are begging wordlessly: Truce?

Despite yourself, as you gaze back at her, you find yourself giving in. For tonight at least.

Truce.

[yesimwriting]

The Needs of Pain (part 2)

A/n since y’all liked part one!!

... i think i could make a part 3?? we’ll see lol 

This is the LONGEST thing i’ve written on here wow,, and the smuttiest 

Warnings: teasing, oral, unprotected sex (pls this is my first time writing full smut be gentle lol)

-- 

Exhaustion is an odd result of pain. I didn’t think I was that tired after the burn. I certainly didn’t feel sleepy while Kirigan cleaned my shoulder and brushed his soft lips and sharp teeth along my neck to distract me from the pain. Why am I even thinking of that? Of the way his breath felt against my skin, the way his tongue soothed any bites he left against my skin. I breathe out flatly. 

Stop thinking of him. Stop thinking of him in that context--that’s why he did it. He enjoys getting under people’s skin, that’s why he’s always insulting the way I see the world. My hand reaches to my neck, touching my skin where I can still feel his lips on my skin, tracing the faint marks I had seen in the bathroom mirror.

I should have asked the healer to get rid of them before they fully formed, but the thought of showing them to anyone was too embarrassing to bear. I force my hand away, dropping it onto my pillow. 

He had acted so strange today, he had been so blunt. It was a tactic. He wants to be in my head and I’m giving him what he wants. I sigh, rolling over and pulling my duvet further up my body. It’s too hot for this. Ugh. I kick the duvet off of my legs, letting my nightgown wrinkle up my body. Strong hands could pull the fabric up in a similar, yet much more euphoric way. 

No. Who’s thoughts are these? The fact that I picture the same hands that dabbed at my burn earlier today has me questioning my sanity. I can’t sleep like this. Kirigan wanted to be in my head and now he is. Damn him. I can’t stand him which means I can never have him.

Desire has nothing to do with tolerance. The thought leaves my face warm and stomach twisted. 

I sit up sharply, sliding out of bed tiredly. I’ll get some air and everything will be fine. The moon will clear my mind.

The Little Palace is strangely twisting at night, all long shadows and yellow lantern light. I slip out of my room quickly, but my thoughts are not immediately banished with the change of scenery. I must be ill. Infection must have set in regardless of my efforts and the healer sealed it beneath my skin and now it’s impacting me. Fever. I’m delusional with fever. 

“I didn’t take you the kind for a late night trist.” 

His voice leaves the hairs on the back of my neck standing like soldiers at attention. I manifested him the same way people manifest the devil. “Air.” My defense is childish. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get some air.” 

The sound of even footsteps leaves me frozen in place. “What keeps someone like you awake?” It’s like he can read through me. “Thoughts of me?” 

He can never know. “Obviously.” 

My sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed, he lets out an almost humored breath. “Or perhaps it’s pain.” 

The comment is so confusing I almost don’t realize he’s bringing up my shoulder injury. How had I let him see me so vulnerable? Why did he seem somewhat concerned in his own way? 

“My shoulder’s perfectly fine.” Good. A normal direction for this conversation to head. “It took the Healer all of two minutes.” 

The touch on my shoulder is so sudden I almost jump. Kirigan doesn’t shy away at that, fingers firmly brushing down the skin. “It feels the same.” 

I could scream. His strange observation means nothing to me, but the implication is enough to drive me mad. The implication that he knows my skin well enough to be able to judge whether the healed skin feels different is sickening. I’m tired of this. 

I turn on my heels, all of my tiredness and irritation twisting in me. “Even if it didn’t, it’s none of your concern.” 

“I didn’t realize you were extra irritable when you’re tired.”

Every conversation with him leaves me feeling petulant. “I’m not tired.” I cross my arms, keep my expression set. “I just--I wanted to get some air.” 

“Hm.” He takes a step forward, preparing to close the small distance I’d managed to create between us. “And why is that?” 

The question leaves me irritated in an odd way. A flat way. There’s a narcissistic entitlement in that question. An entitlement to my thoughts. I shrug. “I hoped it’d make me tired.” 

Kirigan draws his eyebrows together, curiosity and something resembling amusement playing at his expression. “If you’d like to be tired, I think I know a few ways to be of assistance.”

A faint, aggravating warmth comes to my face. Not only did my lie earn me a ridiculous innuendo, it’s also trapped me in a corner I cannot escape. Healing from the burn had left me pathetically drowsy. There’s no way he can’t see through me, a tired haze has to be visible on my face. My eyelids feel weighted and I’m too distracted by my deep longing for sleep to hold onto irritation. 

“I’m sure I’ll manage on my own.” The words are not meant to be a challenge, just a way to dismiss him. I don’t think he takes them that way. 

He draws his eyebrows together, eyes threatening to lose that curious quality. Kirigan steps forward, I step back blankly, desperate to keep enough distance to keep what’s left of my wits about me. He ignores my reaction, taking another step forward. I take another step back. My back touches the wall. I am a mouse and he’s an excited cat. 

“You don’t have to,” his voice is too low, too intimate, “I’m not sure that’s something you want to understand.” 

My chin raises just slightly, a silent protest. “Dependency is a fatal flaw.” 

“So is desire,” his reply is much too quick. “Desire is worse, because one can resist dependency based on pride...but desire, that is something that one sacrifices for.” 

Maybe if I was less tired I’d bother to interpret his words a little more. But all I can focus on is his tone--the quality of it. “You sound heavy.” My voice is as light as the night breeze I was craving moments ago. “But you always sound heavy.” It’s the wistful observation of someone slowly disappearing. “At least you’re pretty,” I muse, falling more and more distant by the second.

Something soft breaks across his features, his lips quirking. “Pretty?” 

I rest my back against the wall comfortably, eyes shutting without permission. “I’m sure I’ll regret that comment in a moment.” 

He stays silent, but his presence does not disappear. I can’t tell if I’m glad for it. The warm touch on my shoulder startles me out of my drowsy trance. Panic has me ready to jump off the wall, but Kirigan brushes his thumb up and down my shoulder. His touch sets any skin that comes in contact with him aflame. I shouldn’t find the gesture so comforting. My eyes flutter shut again, my body relaxing against the wall. When my protest dies out before it begins, Kirigan shifts closer. I’m confused, but too at peace to answer. Something velvety and warm brushes against my collar. Soft and warm and electric. He’s kissing my skin again. 

My lips part in hopes of arguing, but when his teeth graze the skin he already marked earlier I’m gone. My eyes shut again, but this time it’s different. Pleasure and drowsiness clear me of all inhibitions as his touch becomes more and more assured. I let him test me, his mouth moving against any and all exposed skin. I don’t even stop him when I feel his hands graze the hem of my nightgown, wrinkling it the way I imagined earlier. 

“Kirigan.” I need to find my strength, but what’s the point of strength when his touch leaves me so warm? The only acknowledgement of my protest he offers me is the lingering squeeze of my thigh before his long fingers begin to graze towards the inside of my thighs. I have no choice but to let his lips brush up my neck, his teeth grazing my skin the way they did earlier today. “Kirigan.” I try to sound firmer, but he destroys the rest of my sentence before I have the chance to get it out. His teeth nip the base of my neck, ruining my protest for a second time.

 Maybe if I was less tired I’d be able to fight him off a little better, but I’m so drowsy I had trouble thinking before he started touching me. My eyes shut in both bliss and exhaustion. His thumb presses into my hip. Something in me stalls as his fingers brush the hem of my underwear--testing me, challenging me. I open my eyes on instinct, but he remains unbothered, slipping his thumb beneath the only fabric that divides us in order to better grip my hip.

I stiffen because of how badly I want to melt. This is bad. This is insane. We’re in a hallway in the middle of the night and he’s General Kirigan. Whatever attraction I feel is another tactic to manipulate me. 

“We need to stop.” The command is weak, my voice as dry as my resolve. 

He angles his head in order to regard me a little better. His expression is one of mock confusion as he smirks. Actually smirks. “Stop what?” False innocence drips from his voice as he leans towards me, expression amused as his lips near my own. “I haven’t even started yet.” My eyes widen, something that amuses him. “Y/n?”

I’m left on edge. I’m left wanting. My lips part flatly, but words feel so distant. “Yes?” 

“What happened earlier?” His voice is the kind of sinful that’s meant to coax. Kirigan brushes his thumb across my shoulder, eyes watching mine cautiously. “How did you get burned?” 

I push against the sultry quality of his voice. “I told you--an accident.” 

“Hm.” His eyebrows draw together in a surprisingly soft way. I stare at him freely, but he ignores my gaze, eyes locked on my newly healed skin. Is he truly that concerned? “Whose accident?” 

I swallow once. “My own.” He still isn’t looking at me. “I’m not exactly the most coordinated person, you’ve witnessed my clumsiness yourself.” 

Kirigan is not convinced. Perhaps he will never fully buy my partial lie. His grip on me hardens. Restraint. I may not be able to win against his paranoia, but I might be able to distract him. Cautiously, I move one hand forward, touching the hand that’s on my shoulder. I hesitate. Touching him without prompting almost feels too intimate. I’m being ridiculous. I brush my fingers against the back of his palm, letting my touch trail up his forearm. 

“Y/n.” My name borders on a warning. 

I suppress a smile, playing into my sleepiness as I tilt my head to the side. “Yes?” 

He doesn’t reply, expression tightening as my hand snares around his wrist, pulling it off my shoulder with more care than I thought myself capable of. The intensity of his gaze is enough to burn me. I turn my full attention to his hand. I’d never admit this out loud, but this isn’t the first time I’ve thought about how objectively attractive his hands are. I kiss each of his knuckles slowly, brushing my lips against his skin tentatively. 

To my surprise, he allows my indulgence. I glance at him through my lashes. Kirigan’s eyes are shut, expression bordering on pained. “Kirigan?” 

He opens his eyes but his expression does not ease. His other hand leaves my thigh, grabbing the low collar of my nightgown with such a fierce speed it takes me a second to realize what’s happening. He pulls me away from the wall in a way that borders on violent. 

“I don’t know who you’re protecting, but I guarantee you they’re not worth it.” The words are acidic. He’s seething. “I grow tired of your resistance.” 

If he hadn’t transformed into something so untamed, I might have had enough gall to tell him I grow tired of being toyed with. I say nothing, instead I take in the abrasiveness of his anger, the tension of his grip on the thin fabric that clothes me. I am unflinching in my assessment in the most tired way possible, eyes struggling not to shut and body desperate to rest, but even more desperate for him. His eyes stare into mine, searching for something I am too far gone to offer. He must realize my sleepiness is genuine because he soon drops his gaze, taking his time in analyzing the even rise and fall of my chest as well as the hint of cleavage his grip on my nightgown is exposing. Pure heat finds itself in my face, chest, and worst of all---core. His staring lacks any shame. 

Kirigan parts his lips as if to speak but then instead takes a moment to lick them. The thought of his tongue in relation to lips only makes the burning in me worse. It’s practically an ache. A needy one. 

“I grow weary of your lack of understanding.” 

Understanding? “What is there to understand?” 

His head angles itself to one side but he doesn’t meet my gaze. The hold he has on me loosens just enough so that his hold on me is no longer taut. That should not disappoint me the way it does. I wait patiently, ignoring the bundle of unexplained nerves in my stomach as best as I can. Something strange colors his features when he finally looks at me again, something almost vulnerable. 

“I brought you here.” He sounds farther from me than ever. “I…” His exhale is gentle, but his expression is quick to harden. “Who are you so willing to protect?”

I must be really tired because his voice sounds like it borders on heart ache. If I didn’t fear Arthur’s safety I’d tell Kirigan everything if it meant his pain would dissipate. I never thought Kirigan’s potential pain would bother me, but now that I’ve seen him look stricken by something so weighted--now that I’ve seen the way he wears pain--I don’t want to be the one to give him that. I want to be the one to give him some kind of sanctuary. The thought leaves me with a desire to flea. 

“Will you just believe me when I say it’s no one?” In a way that’s the truth. Arthur is not particularly significant unless you’re a young Grisha female with a desire for heart ache. “No one worth mentioning at least.” 

He’s quick to retighten his hold on my nightgown, leaving the fabric taut and more of me exposed. “You being desperate to protect them makes them worth interest.” A different response than I expected. 

My lips thin. “Only because it was a small accident. They don’t deserve to be punished over the briefest loss of focus.” 

I take his silence as an indicator that he is considering my words. His free hand finds my shoulder as he pulls me even closer to him by the fabric he’s gripping. “And if I were to revoke the threat of punishment?” His voice is the definition of temptation, low and promising and coddling me with its sinfulness. I still as Kirigan leans forward so that his lips are practically on my ear. “Then would you tell me? If I released you from the binds of your nobility?” My lips part but I have no words prepared. Before I can think of what to say, his lips graze the side of my jaw before his teeth nip at the end of my ear. “Tell me just to humor me.” 

The command doesn’t make sense to me, but from his lips it feels important. “You won’t hurt them for what happened?” 

His voice seems rougher than before, “Would that make a difference?” 

“It would make all the difference.” I don’t like the honesty of my words. 

Kirigan allows one hand to trail down my waist--a gesture I consider obscenely intimate when paired with the soft brush of his lips on my collar. “I already know who.” His voice is a dark hum. “I was always going to know one way or another--but it’s good to know you would have told me.”

My stomach lurches, dread pouring into me like tar. Before fear can force me to take action, Kirigan begins to leave open mouth kisses from the top of my jaw to the bottom of my neck, taking his time to assault any spot of skin with his tongue that he wants. This reminds me too much of earlier--touches meant to distract from pain with the use of pleasure. 

“Are you--” His mouth is now on my collar, threatening to destroy my question. “Are you going to hurt him?”

At that Kirigan straightens. The sudden lack of contact leaves me cold. I shouldn't be thinking of him. Of his touch. “I’m curious,” he draws out each syllable, delighting in my nerves, “Would you bear his punishment?” 

I’m not sure. I hate that. I haven’t known Arthur for that long, and while he’s kind, he also seems to see all women as replaceable. That isn’t reason for him to endure Kirigan’s punishment but I don’t know him well enough to just blindly agree to that. I loathe myself for not being noble enough to take Arthur’s punishment instantly. 

“What kind of punishment?” 

Kirigan’s expression twists into a greedy smile. He pushes me back easily, pressing me into the wall with more confidence than ever. I’m silent in my confusion until he presses himself against me and I feel something hard and bulging press into where I’m neediest. I stifle a gasp of surprise and something similar to pleasure. “I’m sure I could think of something for you.” I’d care more about my confusion if hot need wasn’t flooding my thoughts and my body with undeniable desperation. “I haven’t even spoken to him.” I exhale, untrusting relief desperate to escape me. Kirigan is quick to lean forward, lips brushing my ear as he prepares to whisper. “I’m more likely to harm him because he has your favor than anything else.”

Warmth burns my face. “He doesn’t--he’s not exactly the one that holds my favor.”

The heat of his breath adds to my burning as he presses his bulge into my core again. “And who does?” 

I’m not sure what he considers favor, but if it has anything to do with wanting he wins. But he can never know that. “There are some contenders, but no one yet.” 

His hand moves off my hip and nears my throat. “Would it be too bold to assume I’m on the short list?”

He’s two steps away from taking me in an open hallway, I doubt he finds much bold. “Do you want to be?” 

Kirigan’s hand tightens on my throat. “I’ve made it clear from the beginning what I want.” His words are lethal and each syllable has him restricting my airflow a little more. Something in me must be broken because my neediness only worsens. “I brought you here because I see all that you could be. Forget being a Saint, we could be gods.” The sentiment is so raw it’s almost harder to bear than his tight grip on my neck. He leans close again, his scent only adding to my budding lightheadedness. “Say the word, and I could have you praising me like I’m already a god.” My stomach knots in both nerves and insatiable hunger. “Though I’m the one that would be doing the worshipping.” 

My resolve is shattered, leaving me broken and twisting. He releases his hold on my neck in order to move his hand beneath my chin. There is nothing gentle about the way he jerks my head forward, forcing me to look into his eyes. Something about the look he gives me has me melting. His eyes are searching for something in me.

He must find whatever he’s looking for because I feel his touch against my heat, fingers pressing against fabric. I bite my lip on instinct, suppressing the sound of my undoing. Kirigan’s eyes never leave mine as the hand on my chin moves to brush against my bottom lip. 

“I can only give you what you want if you tell me what that is.” 

He exhales slowly, pressing his thumb against my lip downwards. My mouth parts on instinct, something that he takes well. His thumb enters my mouth slowly, taking in my reaction as I taste his skin on my tongue. Kirigan pulls his thumb away from my tongue slowly, a thin string of saliva connecting him to my mouth. With one swift tug, his free hand pulls the only fabric separating him from where I want him most down my thighs. His expression reveals nothing as his thumb, still wet with my saliva, is pressed against my core. His touch teases my clit, just barely brushing where I need him most. The whine that escapes me is so desperate I’m ashamed I can’t help it. 

“So wet already,” his appraisal is gentle, the praise whispered against my throat as his lips brush against my neck. “So wet, so needy that you’d let me take you in this hallway and I’ve hardly touched you.” His finger presses further into me. I let out another pathetic breath. “A pity, someone like you--so painfully under cared for.” I’m reduced to nothing by his words and touch. “What I’d give to undue you here, against the wall--I’d have you crying so loudly everyone would know that I’ve claimed you, that I’ve made you mine.” Before I can reflect on his words, he steps back, pulling my underwear back up as quickly as he yanked it down. 

I let out an instinctual whine. My hand moves to his arm, grabbing him like he’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. “What--” 

Kirigan squeezes my hand, a predator’s smile on his lips. “I want to feel all of you,” his hand squeezes my hip, “I can’t exactly do that against a wall, dove of mine,” he leans forward, lips brushing against my jaw in a way that leaves me chilled and melting at the same time, “At least not the first time.” 

His whisper forces my breathing to hitch, a fact that he notices with an amused look as his thumb brushes against my collar. Kirigan pulls me away from the wall easily. Even the causal touch feels electric against my skin. 

The walk towards my room is tense, his hands never leaving me as if he’s aware of how necessary it is to keep me distracted to ward off my better sense. When we reach my door, Kirigan opens it like it’s his. Entitled. Typical. 

I step into the room, his touch lingering on my arm. A brief shyness pushes itself into my chest. I had let Kirigan touch me in a public space and lead me back to my room. The door closes. I don’t turn. 

Kirigan’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “Shy, now?” His question is teasing, rekindling the fire beneath my skin as he places an open mouth kiss on my neck. He plays with the thin strap of my nightgown, pushing it off my shoulder. He kisses down my neck, collarbone, and shoulder. My inhibitions are melted away again. “When your breathing stalls like that,” his whisper is enough to elicit a desperate shudder, “I am left desperate.” 

He leans forward, mouth trailing down my chest, coming dangerously close to my breasts. The electric current of his touch is all consuming and addicting. I press my back into his chest. His hands are the opposite of shy, touching me everywhere except where I’m most desperate. Kirigan’s hand places itself between my thighs, using his thumb to tease my entrance. I let out a needy sound. And then he retracts his hand, grabbing my shoulders and turning me in one swift motion. 

“Kirigan.” 

His eyes are dark, clouded by something I don’t understand but am too aware that I reciprocate. “Tell me that I have your favor.” His words are taut, bordering on snapping. Kirigan’s grip on me tightens hard enough to bruise, an assertive need taking over him. “That you want me.”

Desire, pride, and rationality twist in my stomach, leaving me too distracted to form words. My gaze drops to the ground on instinct, something Kirigan clearly finds unacceptable because he’s quick to grab my chin and force my eyes to meet his. 

I swallow once, courage withering beneath the look in his eyes. It’s as twisted as a spindling shadow, but the look is fierce admirational, appreciation so deep I could drown in it. It scares and consols me all at once. “I want you.” There’s something pained about such powerful emotion. I loathe and am empowered by it all at once. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.” The words leave my throat scorching with their sincerity. 

As soon as the words leave me, he’s closing the distance between us, the slightest exhale of tension leaving his lips before they meet mine, prepared to devour me. I reciprocate his actions on instinct alone. There is no hesitation, no space, and yet it is not enough. Not enough and yet I don’t know how to be closer. But Kirigan does. One of his hands cup my cheek, coaxing me towards him as if I could possibly have the will to leave him. He steps forward, guiding me to step back. I obey fluidly until I feel something hit the back of my legs. It’d startle me if I wasn’t so consumed by his touch.

His mouth begins to move away from my skin. I chase after him, desperate to keep him touching me. He stops me by placing a hand on my shoulder, a warning about my neediness. I pout, but as he studies me I pant. Maybe the excuse for air was a good idea. I don’t fight the uneasiness of my breathing as I hold Kirigan’s gaze. He regards me with a patience I consider unbearable, taking in the determined look in his eyes, my swollen lips, disheveled hair, and the top of my night gown that’s half falling off. 

It’s in this moment I realize how much more vulnerable than him I am. 

If Kirigan notices any shift in me, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he adjusts his hand on my cheek, his thumb brushing the hot skin gently. “You are everything.” His voice is cracking glass. “Everything that’s good, at least.” 

Maybe he did notice my initial reaction because I am no longer certain that I am the one that’s most vulnerable. “You’re better than you think.” I only say this because it would only weigh on me more to stay silent. “I see it and you don’t want me to.” 

His hand continues to stroke my cheek. “I want you to see all of me.” The heavy beating of my heart seems to stall in my chest. Kirigan drops his hand before grasping the hem of my nightgown. He pulls the fabric upwards easily, bundling the fabric above my hip. “I want you to…” He exhales flatly, pulling the fabric upwards even more. Nerves flood my stomach as he leans towards me, kissing down my jaw. “To know me,” he whispers against my throat.

I am nothing but uneven breaths as he mouth moves down my chest, stalling only once he’s reached my breasts. He pushes me forward easily, guiding me so that I’m laying on my bed. He’s quick to move over me, kissing up my neck as he adjusts so that I’m against the headboard.

When he pulls away again, I’m left pouting. He grins, fueled by my disappointment. “Don’t worry,” he breathes, fingers hooking around the waistband of my underwear before tugging it down my legs easily, “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.” 

Being so exposed has my doubts flooding back, but Kirigan is quick to fight against my instincts in a way only he seems capable of. He squeezes the inside of my upper thigh before leaning down, pressing his mouth onto the skin his fingers just touched. His kisses here are meant to leave me even more desperate, each nip and fleeting pass of his tongue is lazy yet intentional. I am incapable of doing else besides letting out pathetic whines. 

He ignores where I need him most, kissing up my thigh, across my lower stomach, and then down my other thigh. Kirigan continues the pattern across my skin, ignoring any pleas I swallow my pride to give. He is not rushed by my words or cries or the occasional desperate adjustment of my hips. 

Kirigan lifts his head slightly, releasing my inner thigh with an obscene ‘pop’. “Patience.” His fingers trail up my thigh and over my core, teasing my entrance with his lithe fingers. “Unless you’re ready to beg?” 

It’s a challenge, like everything else. The urge to give him my pride to satisfy the electric desire I’m not sure I’m capable of bearing. But then I note his tense hold on my thigh. A sign of restraint, of want. 

“And if I want you to beg for me?” I don’t know where the words come from, but they charge the room with potential. 

Something strange crosses his fingers before his lips tilt upwards in a dark way. “Would you like the strength of that? To have someone like me powerless before you?” My face warms. Kirigan leaves a lingering kiss on my thigh before he moves off the bed. I sigh at the loss of contact, but my tired neediness stalls at the sound of his belt coming undone. “I want to see you on your knees.” I sit up carelessly, desperate to obey him. I’m kneeling in front of him in an instant, taking in his length. The size of it has me gaping. “Open your mouth.” 

I take the order more eagerly than I should, but I make no move to take him. This is just another challenge. I keep my eyes on his as I stick my tongue out before licking the bottom of his member all the way up to his tip. The sound he lets out is pure sin. I lick his tip slowly, each motion of my tongue is strategic as I finally place him in my mouth. I hollow my cheeks, moving up and down slowly. 

The pace is not enough for him, he grips my hair from my scalp as he thrusts into my mouth. The motion is more powerful than I expected and I am left unable to breathe. My slight gag does the opposite of discourage him, he repeats the motion again and again, pushing himself into me until I can feel him in my throat. 

The sounds he lets out are a chorus to me, but it’s not enough. I need more control, I need a way to make him beg. I raise a hand, wrapping it around the base that I cannot fit into my mouth. I stroke him once slowly, making a point as I try to push myself back in order to make him want me more. 

He groans again. I make a point of pushing myself off of him. Precum protrudes his tip. I lick it off of him slowly. I lick up and down his member in the smallest way possible. 

“Y/n,” the restraint in his voice fuels my teasing, “Tease me and you’ll still be overwhelmed by want when the sun rises.” 

A pout tugs at my lips before I open my mouth again, taking Kirigan to my limit. He lets me set the pace of my bobs at first, but then he becomes desperate, holding me in place by the roots of my hair as he moans and thrusts into me without restraint. He ignores my choking as he continues until he throws his head back, letting out a quick praise of my name.

He finishes in my mouth and I swallow all he offers me greedly. I back off my knees slowly, throat burning as his member leaves my mouth. “On the bed.” He’s turned into something insatiable. “Now.” 

I move back to my bed, laying in the same position as before. He takes his time approaching me. When he finally gets to me, he kisses my thighs easily. I let out a small breath before something that’s pure pleasure meets my core. His tongue laps upwards lazily, grazing my clit but not quite touching it.  My hips thrust towards his face, but with hand he holds me down. A coil in my stomach continues to build as he angles himself more purposefully, tongue finally taking care of my clit. My gasps become less and less reasonable as he continues to lap at all that my body has to offer. The coil tightens, I see stars--and then, like cruelty personified, he pulls away. His absence leaves me ready to cry out. 

My desperation only fuels Kirigan as he lines himself with my entrance. Concern twists my stomach as I consider how full my mouth felt when he was in me. I expect some level of warning, but he thrusts into me with no warning. I let out a pathetic cry, but that means nothing to him as he pulls out just to thrust into me with full force again.

“Only I can hurt you,” he demands, thrusting into me as I call out his name. My eyes water at the sensation of such fullness, pleasure and pain combining themselves in a way that leaves me incapable of thought. “Your tears,” he muses, one hand moving to wipe at a tear rolling down my cheek, “Are mine.” 

His thrusts become more and more brutal, less and less even. Each movement of his body in mine leaves me begging for more and less at the same time. He continues until the coil in my stomach tenses to the point of breaking. 

“Kirigan,” I manage, voice far away, “I’m going t--”

“I know,” he offers, “finish with me, dove.” His hand finds my throat, adding the slightest bit of restrained pressure. “And do not hold in your cries.” 

Two more sharp thrusts have us both finishing, calling out for each other as we try to draw out the high of our orgasms together. 

We stay intertwined like that for longer than we should, but then Kirigan stands. I envy his ability to do so. I don’t call for him even though I still don’t want to be alone here. A moment later, I hear him approach. I’m too drowsy to ask what he’s doing as a damp towel is wiped against my forehead and inner thighs. 

When he’s finished cleaning me, some raw emotion settles in my chest. “Are you leaving?” 

Kirigan hesitates. “Not if you don’t want me to.” 

I roll over, the motion leaves my body aching. Kirigan accepts my invitation, crawling beneath my sheets and adjusting our bodies so that he can rest his hand on my back. 

--

Tags: @luminous-99 @voyevoda-thejoy @voidmalfoy 

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@tranquillitymoon

[evilmortys]

okay,  so,  here  are  my  thoughts  on  the  finale,

i’m  gonna  start  with  the  things  i  didn’t  like,  just  because  of  who  i  am  as  a  person!  my  feelings  are  mixed,  but...  looks  lovingly  at  evil  morty.  he  truly  was  the  only  exception  as  usual  ♥

i’m  not  going  to  lie,  this  whole  thing  felt.  rushed.  although  some  of  rick’s  meta  commentary  about  not  touching  citadel  shit  because  it  was  canon  and  he  and  morty  were  supposed  to  be  going  back  to  lighthearted  one  off  adventures,  and  “the  second  he  reveals  that  he’s  evil,  we’re  out”  made  me  laugh,  it  also  felt  very  disingenuous  and  ham-fisted.  having  him  do  all  these  fourth  wall  breaks  honestly  took  away  from  the  impact  of  what  this  episode  could  have  been,  but  whatever.  

i  just  got  the  vibe  that  they  wanted  everyone  to  stfu  about  the  citadel  and  evil  morty,  so  they  quickly  stuck  together  this  episode  that  dealt  with  fans’  demand  in  one  fell  swoop  so  they  could  move  on  from  the  existence  of  both  plotlines.  i  honestly  thought  it  was  a  bit  wasteful  since  tales  from  the  citadel  resonated  with  a  lot  of  fans  and  it  was  an  interesting  bit  of  worldbuilding  with  compelling  narratives  going  on.

you  already  all  likely  know  how  irritated  i  am  with  morty’s  character  degrading  so  much  once  again.  this  entire  season  has  been  building  him  up  to  becoming  so  much  more  capable,  only  to  wrench  it  away  from  him  again  by  instead  having  his  co-dependency  with  rick  ramped  up  to  the  point  it  was  literally  out  of  character.  this  has  come  out  of  nowhere.  at  no  point  in  the  show’s  entire  run  has  morty  ever  been  this  needy  with  rick.  

again,  i  feel  like  this  may  have  been  written  around  what  eventually  ended  up  happening  at  the  citadel,  with  the  revelation  that  mortys  are  ‘bred  for  forgiveness.’  it  would  have  been  far  more  compelling  for  our  morty  to  have  continued  to  go  down  the  path  of  being  decidedly  unforgiving  of  rick’s  bullshit,  thereby  making  him  deviate  from  the  norm  in  a  similar  way  to  evil  morty  himself  and  implicating  that  the  cycle  of  a  morty  going  to  these  extremes  is  going  to  be  repeated  once  again.

rick  did  not  deserve  or  earn  voicing  the  recognition  that  his  dynamic  with  morty  was  toxic,  and  abusive.  are  you  fucking  kidding  me?  the  smartest  man  in  the  universe  only  JUST  clocked  onto  that?  bullshit!  he’s  known  all  along,  and  he’s  been  using  it  for  his  own  gain!  he  doesn’t  get  to  just  say  it  with  that  regretful  voice  as  if  he’s  been  clueless  /  oblivious  to  it  this  entire  time.  they  just  wanted  the  audience  to  feel  sympathetic  for  him  by  throwing  in  this  tidbit  and  a  tragic  backstory,  as  if  that  even  sort  of  makes  up  for  everything  he’s  put  his  family  through.  

abandoning  the  people  you’ve  hurt  is  ALSO  abusive  and  toxic  behaviour!  he’s  done  it  time  and  time  again!  how  is  acknowledging  the  fact  that  you  hurt  people,  that  you  hurt  your  family,  the  people  that  love  you  despite  the  fact  you  objectively  don’t  deserve  it,  then  ditching  them  once  again  instead  of  staying  with  them  and  improving  as  a  person  and  helping  everyone  heal  from  what  you’ve  put  them  through,  ANY  BETTER??  he  never  changes!!

i  also  couldn’t  really  process  the  fact  that  rick  just  handed  morty  his  portal  gun  like  it  was  nothing--  i  feel  like  him  topping  it  off  and  using  it  behind  rick’s  back  should  have  been  a  bigger  deal  than  what  it  was.  also,  morty  would  not  break  a  guy  out  of  a  mental  asylum  without  a  second  thought.  he  simply  wouldn’t  do  that.

we’ve  fallen  right  back  into  the  status  quo  of  morty  being  stupid  and  rick  being  the  smartest  one  in  the  room  who  always  knows  what’s  going  on,  even  when  he  actually  shouldn’t  for  the  sake  of  a  few  meta  jokes.  which  is  more  annoying  than  i  can  put  into  words  tbqh

obviously  i  hated  all  the  parallels  they  were  attempting  to  make  between  rick  and  morty  having  a  romantic  relationship  and  “breaking  up.”  never  has  morty  behaved  so  uncharacteristically  in  any  other  episode  of  the  show.  it  honestly  felt  disrespectful  to  all  the  growth  he’s  had  as  a  character  to  reduce  him  to  something  so  pathetic.

i  guess  this  is  less  of  a  thing  i  disliked,  and  more  of  a  commentary  on  rick’s  character?  but  once  again,  his  hypocrisy  really  leapt  out  at  me  once  it  was  revealed  that  he  always  has  a  hand  in  bringing  together  beths  and  jerrys  in  order  to  ensure  that  more  mortys  will  end  up  in  the  multiverse.  i  find  it  unbelievably  sad  that  he’ll  willingly  ensnare  the  two  of  them  in  the  throes  of  a  relationship  that  he  knows  is  likely  to  become  toxic  and  cause  the  both  of  them  to  be  miserable  throughout  their  time  together;  they’re  rarely  happy  /  compatible  together  and  always  end  up  sticking  it  out  for  the  kids.  it  also  makes  his  constant  shitting  on  jerry  even  more  egregious  and  almost  serves  to  call  his  love  for  his  daughter  into  question  for  me.  he’s  using  her  as  a  means  to  his  own  ends  by  manipulating  situations  so  she’ll  meet  jerry  and  they’ll  likely  end  up  together.  

don’t  get  me  wrong,  i  actually  really  loved  the  fact  he  had  a  hand  in  founding  the  citadel  he  now  loathes  so  much,  and  i  think  the  constant  creation  of  mortys  as  grandsons  ‘bred  to  forgive’  ricks  is  so  fucked  up  and  awful  in  the  most  intriguing  way.  it’s  akin  to  him  fiddling  with  the  concept  of  keeping  mortys  in  constant  pain  to  cloak  his  comings  and  goings  around  the  multiverse  (on  paper,  morty,  on  paper!),  except  this  time  he  did  it  in  reality.

evil  morty.  oh  my  god,  evil  morty.  my  saving  grace.  my  ray  of  light.  i’m  so,  so,  so  pleased  with  the  way  he  was  handled.  while  i  admit  i  was  looking  forward  to  more  of  a  slow - burn  thing,  getting  a  bit  of  insight  into  his  presidency  and  possibly  exploring  a  dynamic  with  him  and  c-137  (we’ll  get  to  that)...  i  honestly  still  really  loved  what  ended  up  happening  with  him,  even  though  i  still  believe  on  some  level  that  they  just  wanted  to  tie  up  his  narrative  thread  so  fans  wouldn’t  remain  fixated  on  him.

of  course  he  did.  of  course  that  motherfucker  rick  created  a  boundary  within  the  infinite  multiverse  that  ensured  he’d  always  be  the  smartest  man  within  it  as  far  as  mortys  and  other  people  in  his  life  were  concerned.  i’ve  always  found  it  odd  that  such  universes  were  never  brought  up  even  in  passing;  the  nature  of  infinite  possibilities  always  dictated  that  someone  smarter  than  him  must  exist  out  there,  and  that  worlds  existed  where  he  was  nobody  special.

him  being  morally  gray.  i  could  cry.  i  was  clinging  on  to  the  hope  that  it  would  be  shown  he  hates  ricks  more  than  he  looks  down  on  mortys,  and  it  absolutely  was.  while  he  was  okay  with  killing  and  hurting  mortys  to  achieve  his  own  “selfish”  ends,  it’s  clear  that  he’s  unhappy  with  the  cycle  of  abuse  from  their  infinite  grandfathers  that  pushes  him  to  these  extremes,  loathes  the  concept  that  mortys  are  not  supposed  to  defy  their  ricks.  “if  you’ve  ever  been  sick  of  him,  you’ve  been  evil  morty  too.”  he  hates  ricks  FAR  more  than  he  does  mortys,  and  you  can  pry  that  from  my  cold,  dead  hands.  he  believes  mortys  are  beyond  help  because  of  the  way  they  stick  by  rick--  the  fact  they’re  literally  created  with  being  yes-men  for  rick  in  mind.

he  didn’t  seek  to  make  changes  for  the  greater  good  of  other  mortys  within  the  citadel.  i  think  he  understood  on  some  level,  it  was  impossible.  i  think  he  has  this  belief  that  other  mortys  are  part  of  the  problem,  because  they  perpetuate  the  cyclic  dynamic  of  toxicity  and  harm--  they  don’t  move  to  break  free  from  it  the  way  he  does,  and  so  he  feels  no  guilt  leaving  them  behind  while  he  breaks  into  the  aspect  of  the  multiverse  where  rick  has  no  power.  it’s  honestly  heartbreaking  that  he’s  come  to  have  a  mindset  like  that.  

i  think  seeing  c-137  reach  out  to  help  rick  up  once  again  instead  of  accepting  what  i  hope  and  pray  was  a  semi - genuine  offer  to  join  him  as  he  departed  was  just  yet  another  instance  of  him  witnessing  a  morty  doing  the  most  to  save  the  man  who  makes  their  lives  a  living  hell.  if  he  was  truly  unsympathetic,  he’d  have  made  no  such  offer.  if  he  thinks  a  morty  is  capable  of  pulling  away  from  the  hold  ricks  have  on  them,  he  wants  them  out  of  this  shit  just  as  much  as  he  himself  wants  to  break  free  from  it.  i  think  he  has  the  mindset  that  i  know  they  tried  to  play  it  off  with  “haha  the  other  seat’s  a  toilet,”  but  i  don’t  think  that  was  the  case  and  they  were  once  again  just  undermining  the  moment  for  no  good  reason.  SCREAMS!!  don’t  get  me  wrong  what  he  did  WAS  selfish  and  evil.  but  in  a  way  you  can  understand  where  it  derives  from

again,  it  REALLY  irritates  me  they’ve  undone  so  much  of  morty’s  character  just  to  ensure  he  wouldn’t  end  up  taking  evil  morty  up  on  his  proposition.  if  morty  had  retained  even  a  tenth  of  the  character  growth  he’s  been  having  from  late  season  four  until  towards  the  end  of  season  five,  wherein  it  began  to  unravel,  he’d  have  left  rick.  undeniably.

the  yellow  portal.  oh  my  god............

it  made  me  so  fucking  emotional  to  see  that.  he’s  won.  he’s  free.  

[ohhmyheart5678]

When in the streets of seoul (17)

*warning* this mentions death, murder, suicide, guns, and other gruesome and dark content if you are sensitive to these kinds of things do not read the it

Chan x female reader

Word count: 1.4K

Previous/next

Chan knew he was gonna get scolded so as soon as everyone step foot in the door he was determined to explain himself. “Code purple meeting right now” he barked at them. Code purple meeting meant that there was an argument so bug that everyone must go to the conference room and stay there until everyone has talked out their problems. The boys just stare at him. Not moving at all it was if they had made a silent pact to go against his orders. Instead some their shake their heads in disapproval and others were just stares of disbelief and disappointment.

“Did you guys not hear me? I said code purple meeting, now!” He was shocked at them going against him this was the first time the boys weren’t jumping at his instruction. Usually when he say jump they say how high but he was starting to wonder if today was I different story. “Don’t make me force you” he was now threatening and you could tell even though he was out numbered that threat alone was enough to get them to move. 

His voice sending a shiver down my spine I follow the boys into the conference room. “Not you Kinley” Christopher puts his hand up to my chest, stopping me in my tracks. “I of all people deserve an explanation” I looked him straight in his eyes. I was not backing down and he knew that. The blonde haired boy sighed before silently placing his hand down and moving out the way. I sit down in my seat next to Minho the seat I not too long ago was snatched away from. I looked around to everyone had taken their seats as well.

Hyunjin with his head down , Changbin completely slouched in his seat, Minho with his head thrown all the way back, seungmin sat straight with his arms crossed leaning on the table, jeongin also sat straight up but his arms were on the arm rest of the adjustable chair, Han with his head in his hands, and felix sat with his arms crossed. All of them had the body language of not wanting to be there, but one thing everyone knows is for sure. Never ever take Chan’s threats lightly he almost never bluffs.

Chan walks in and sits in the chair at the end of the table where he always sits. He take one look around the room before continuing. “Look I know what did was wrong -“ he started but was cut of but seungmin “and selfish” he states clearly irritated with him like the rest of us. “Yes seungmin thank you for that much needed side mark” Sarcasm laced thick in his tone he blinks in exasperation. Seungmin sarcastically smiles at him in response.

Chan let’s it slide because he understood why every was so angry. You had made a big impact on everyone within the household. The boys love you so much every last one of them hold a special place in your heart for diffrent reasons. Plus seungmin wasn’t normally like this. “I was doing what I thought was best even though I hurt every person I truly cared about in the process. I thought it would be worth it” he states I’m his defense. “You did what you thought was best for you” Minho put emphases on the “you” . “Of course he did I mean did you guys hear how many times he said “I” so far? It’s almost pathetic” jeongin spat out at him.

“ “I thought it would be worth it?” God do you ever truly think about anyone but yourself? I mean I thought Kinely was changing you for the better I actually had hope but you’re hopeless” jeongin continued to penetrate his heart with his sharp words. “Guy as embarrassing as he is I think we should hear him out” Changbin tries to defuse the situation even if it was by the smallest amount.

“I’m tired of hearing him out that’s all we fucking do! It’s literally our job but im not getting paid for this shot so I’m out” Felix shot up from his chair and took on look at me . Causing everyone to look at him and once they saw his attention on me, they all turned their attention towards me as well. I shook my head ‘no’ as in telling him that as infuriated I am with this man, that this wasn’t the way to handle situation. Han placed his hand on Felix’s shoulder and nodded at him which was his way of calming him down. Felix rolled his eyes and sat down once again in his chair. As much as I hated to admit it I was still in love with him. I wanted to know why the man I loved so dearly could betray so easily. “Changbin is right… let’s hear him out” it took everything within me to say even form that sentence alone. Chan thanked me with his eyes before he proceeded.

“Kinely you out of all people deserve a apology” his eyes watered as he tried not to choke on his words. “I don’t know what you see in me but I appreciate you for loving me unconditionally even when I haven’t been the best boyfriend, even when I held you against your will, even when I sold you for money to a man who doesn’t have your best Interest at heart.” He suspired and resumed. “Not amount of “I’m sorrys” would ever fix it and no amount of “I’m sorrys” could ever amount to how terrible I feel for countlessly putting you in these intolerable situations” Ch an searched for the right words to say because he wanted to get his point across in the most genuine way possible but I couldn’t hear anymore.

I was tired of him apologizing it had gotten so exceedingly old at this point. “Don’t worry no apology needed” he stood there in complete shock. “No apologies because I’m done with this meeting and I’m done with you” now it was my turn to stand up out of my chair “we are so fucking over” I expressed my disdain before storming off. Chan set about chasing me. “Don’t run after her you deserve this” Hyunjin shook his head “I’ll run after my girlfriend” Hyunjin was the third person to stand but and begin walking out the door as well. “Speaking of deserving things one thing you don’t deserve is her” jisung laughs but not in a funny way. “And you do?”.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Christopher was confused when han stayed silent. His eyes then widened because everything began to make sense. In fact everything was so crystal clear now that he started to piece certain moments and conversations together. “Oh my god you’re in love with kinely, aren’t you?” Coming off less as a question and more of a statement. Jisung still sits there in silence. Meanwhile Hyunjin’s ears perked up at the sound of his lover’s name.

The raven haired boy takes his hand off the doorknob of the door he had planned to walk out of before he heard their conversation. Hyunjin was officially over bang Chan and all of his bullshit today. He had planned on telling him off. “Have you lost your fucking mind?” He questions “how far did you reach before pulling this shit out of your ass?” but before bang Chan could answer he had taken an look at jisung himself and realized that Chan actually wasn’t making this up at all.

Ok so wait! How many of you are in love with my girlfriend?” He cleared his throat before correcting himself “or ex-girlfriend for that matter” Chan needed to know the answer before they can go any further. Felix was the first to quietly raise his hand , then jeongin, jisung followed, and so did the rest of them. Discluding Hyunjin of course. “Fuck, that’s everyone” Chan says almost muffled with his hand covering his mouth but not enough for everyone to not hear it. “So what do we do now?” Hyunjin was already stressed with the fact that he had to share with Chan but now he had to worry about the whole group. He was sure Chan was thinking the same thing judging by the panicked look on his face. “Fuck… I actually- I don’t know…”

Previous/ Next

[camthesolemnone]

Hi, it's like, 11PM, but I just thought of 3 more promising for you:

1: Nightmares. One of them end up eating g nightmares after their married (the severity of it is up to you), and ends up waking up/getting woken up by the other. They try to help them calm down, and yeah.

Hurt/comfort style, bay-beeeee

Crap I made this nightmare a lot more hurtful than I probably should have. Poor Heavy :<

Warnings for violence, harsh insults, and a mention of sex (not explicit).

Also you mentioned "after they're married" so I'm assuming you mean Misha and Josef. No quarrels here, I'll take any excuse to write about them again.

Scout stood in front of him, tapping his foot and his metal baseball bat against the pavement in an irritated fashion. He had stolen yet another one of Heavy's sandwiches and the giant was determined to get it back. What threw Misha off, however, was the man's sudden stop.

It seemed like he wasn't planning on running away anymore.

"So, tons o' fun, you ready to fight me like a man?" Jeremy taunted, shifting back and forth on his feet in a battle-ready position.

The Russian glared at the Bostonian and cracked his knuckles.

"You are the baby man here. All you do is run like big coward. Heavy will show you real strength!" He shot back.

Scout's smirk and the way he twirled his bat in front of himself held not just confidence, but an overwhelming amount of spite. Misha was almost paralyzed by the man's unforeseen change in demeanor.

"Does a real man just sit at home and bang his gay husband while his ma 's dying and his sisters are tryna fend for themselves?"

Suddenly, that state of paralysis came true. Heavy's blood ran cold while his heart sped up to an unhealthy level.

"How...what--it is not like...I DID NOT KNOW SHE WAS ON HER DEATH BED! IT HAPPENED SO SUDDENLY THAT EVEN SISTERS DID NOT KNOW!" He shouted, stepping forward to grab Scout by the collar and knock his lights out, "how do you even know of these things? I never--"

Misha was stunned back into silence. His hand went straight through Jeremy's body, and the nimble runner reeled back before bringing his bat down on the Russian's shoulder. The impact was five times as painful as it should have been for Scout's pitiful muscles, and Heavy was sent to the ground with a startled scream. Why couldn't he touch Scout when the man could hit him? He attempted to stand up and retaliate, but Jeremy placed the handle of the bat on the top of his skull and pushed down, shoving his face into the ground.

"You're a failure, chucklenuts! You failed your team, your family, and you're about to fail yourself!"

Heavy cried out, "Nyet!" but in a flash, Scout had disappeared. After a few hesitant moments, the Russian determined he was in the clear and began to lift himself up. Then, as quickly as Scout had vanished, Spy appeared. The Frenchman unfolded his butterfly knife before thrusting it downwards into Heavy's hand, essentially pinning him to the ground. Misha let out another howl of pain.

"I have places to be, so I will make it quick. Enjoy your stay in hell, fat man!"

Heavy wasn't given a chance to respond, as Soldier and Demoman came crashing down onto his back, grinding their boots into his spine. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip so hard to prevent a whimper from escaping that it started to bleed.

"Pozhaluysta, make it stop."

"You are nothing but a greasy Commie who deserves to have his fingers ripped off one by one!" Soldier yelled.

Demoman smashed a beer bottle on the back of the bear's neck, causing him to let out a choked gasp. A rapid series of lashes from Jane's whip resulted in more shrieks and Heavy bleeding in multiple places.

"I ain't drunk, I just despise you, you blubbery Bolshevik!"

"I HATE YOU, STALINGRAD!"

"You're the most rotten crop in the field, partner."

"I've had a lot of poor souls as targets, but bloody hell! You're past pathetic, ya pig! What's this? I think you might even be bleeding gravy!"

"Mmph mmph hmm! Hudda!"

"Yeah, not so tough now are ya? Are ya!"

Misha couldn't stand it. He was being torn apart from the inside out. What had he ever done to deserve this? Why was his team, his friends, punishing him like this?

"Stop! No more! Heavy has had enough!"

Everyone turned to dust, leaving only one figure standing tall and proud. He almost seemed to glow amidst Heavy's blurring vision.

"Doktor, I made vow to myself that I would never appear so weak in front of you, but please, I beg of you, help me..."

Medic turned around. His initial expression was one of confusion, but it soon transformed into one of cold ill-will.

"And why should I do that?" He asked solemnly.

Misha could feel tears pricking in his eyes.

"Josef, please, I love you. Do you love Heavy? You said you did, on day we got married, on the day before that, so, so many times. Do not tell me you have given up on me as well!"

Josef's features softened with concern for his other half. He bent down towards the trembling, bleeding giant and caressed his cheek.

"Of course I haven't left you, Misha," he whispered with a tiny smile.

Through his agony, Heavy could almost feel his own smile coming on. His love was here. He was going to save him from this prison and clean him up and everything would be normal again.

Then, he felt a blade pierce through his chest. One that could only belong to the Ubersaw.

"I couldn't have left you if I was never yours in the first place."

.

"NO!"

Josef awoke with a start, his breathing almost as rapid as the man sitting next to him. With owlish eyes, he turned his head towards his husband and felt his heart shatter.

Heavy has his arms wrapped tightly around himself. He was crying into his sleeve like a child and his whole body shook with remnants of fear. Medic reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, but then quickly withdrew it when he determined physical contact towards someone unstable wasn't wise. Instead, he lowered his tone to a murmur and called out to Heavy.

"Misha? Meine liebe? What on earth happened?"

The giant continued to shake and sob for another minute, but once he turned his head and saw his beloved doctor next to him, he gasped.

"You are still here!" He cried.

The German's worry intensified.

"Of course I am, geliebte. I will always be here for you. Just what sort of nightmare did you have?"

Without warning, the giant eclipsed the smaller man completely and cried into his hair. His large arms were almost suffocating, but Josef returned the embrace, rubbing his back through his pajama shirt.

"Scout and Engineer and everyone-...and Doktor stabbed me and--"

"Shh, calm down, Misha. It's going to be alright, I'm here now, and I would never hurt you. I love you, meine Bär," Medic mused, putting everything into making his partner feel comfortable again.

Heavy removed his face from the medic's hair and looked him in the eyes, his own still slightly wet.

"Heh, Heavy is such a mess. Leetle baby dream turned ME into the baby," he joked, wiping his left cheek.

Josef took to wiping his right with a comforting thumb, "There is nothing to be ashamed about, Misha. We all have our bad days and nights. I wake up frequently with nightmares too, usually of you or my parents dying."

Heavy's face dropped again.

"You never thought to wake me up? You know Heavy does not mind. I love you very much, Josef. Would climb mountain for you to be at peace."

The German placed a finger over his husband's lips and shook his head.

"We'll talk about that later. Now is about you. Come now, you must feel exhausted."

And he was right. His breakdown had thoroughly wiped him out, and Medic's soft hands rubbing circles on his hip and on his cheek wasn't helping.

Smiling softly, Josef placed a small kiss on his lover's lips, a reminder that they were both safe, before wrapping his own arms around the Russian and laying the both of them back down.

"Don't worry, Misha. I promise you'll dream sweetly now. I'll even make some French toast in the morning, how does that sound?" Medic grinned.

Heavy, however, was still a tad on the anxious side, so he pulled his wonderful husband closer to his chest and kissed the crown of his head.

"Thank you for staying by my side, Doktor. Heavy appreciates you more than you will ever know."

Medic wanted to respond, but Heavy fell asleep almost instantaneously afterwards. Instead, he continued to smile in the darkness and ran a steady hand across the specialist's back until he himself succumbed to the world of slumber.

A promise was a promise. Misha was not tormented further.

[gregnas-the-grouch]

Truth Without Power

All was calm in the forest. The singing of birds, the chipping of insects, the gentle sway of trees in the wind. It all blended in the background, But for one Cofagrigus, it only served to aid her meditation. The warrior’s mind still, focused. Nothing could break her concentration at this point. 

“So eager to earn my ire? I know your mental faculties are lacking, yet even I must admit I’m impressed at the depths you’re willing to pursue in the name of enraging me.” Baozhai’s demeanor had hit a new low. For all her bluster, even Yemir could feel it radiating off the Cofagrigus in sickening waves. It gave the small Gallade pause, if only for a moment as Bao turned to face her charge. “It seems I have no option left. Since I can find no opponent capable of rousing you to your former size. I will simply have to get my hands dirty”, the ghost murmured. Standing up to her full height, Baozhai looked down at Yemir. As if she were a mischievous child that needed scolding. “Be proud. It’s not often people get to face me in combat. One of the better highlights compared to the list of individuals you’ve battled, I would say”, a slight smile formed on her face as Yemir stared at Baozhai.

The reduced giant remained quiet for a few moments before she suddenly bursted into a fit of laughter. Clutching her chest tightly, Yemir did her best not to pass out from the intense pain as she howled like a looney. Bao’s light smile vanished in an instant, her right eye twitching in irritation as Yemir wiped a few tears from her eyes. Calming down. “Oh, that’s a good one, Granny Bao. I thought you were being serious there”, Yemir chuckled. Only to note the annoyance Baozhai had been displaying. “... Oh god, you’re being serious, aren’t ya?” Yemir ruminates upon the Cofagrigus’ words before uttering a simple, “no”, in response. “No offense, but yer not exactly what I would consider a good fight? What do ya do, just flip around with yer little sword there and poke people in the gut? Nah, that’s kinda boring if ye ask me”, Yemir grunted with a lazy look on her face.

“Ah, I see how it is”, Baozhai mused out loud as she started at Yemir. “You’re simply afraid to have this old woman beat your ass, is that it? I suppose I'd be afraid to have my precious reputation too if a, how did you put it? A granny. Beat my ass as well. Perfectly natural response”, Baozhai said calmly as her words poked and prodded at Yemir’s ego. The Gallade bared her teeth, snarling deeply as she turned her back to Baozhai with her arms crossed. “Nice try. I know yer just trying to goad me into fightin’ ya. Ain’t gonna happen.” Without another word, Yemir slowly started to walk away from Baozhai. Yet the mummy wasn’t finished with her little insults. “Ah, I see how it is. Yemir is still pouting and throwing a fit over what happened in White Forest, is it? I wonder… how would your father feel about your cowardice?”

Yemir immediately froze on the spot. Stiff and silent like a statue as Baozhai continued forth with her little verbal assault. “That’s why you continue to suffer from such a sullen mood, no? You put all your faith and trust into someone you believed to be good. Someone you believed to be on your side. Only to find out that they’re not quite the person you thought them to be. Yet you just walk, acting like you’re some kind of hot shit. Being a perpetual mope and doing nothing to solve this little predicament of yours. Perhaps your brother had a good reason to betray you. Perhaps if your father was still alive today, he’d show nothing but disappointment at your inability to-”, Baozhai was cut off as a large rock went flying past her at breakneck speed. The armored ghost twisted her head at just the last second to avoid it before returning her attention back to Yemir. The short Gallade’s mouth had steam seeping out as her pupils were narrowed. Hands balled into fists. “Ya better hope yer as good at fightin’ as ye are at flapping yer lips!”

Baozhai paused for a few moments before a wry grin spread across her face. “See? Was that so hard? Now… give me everything you got”, Baozhai growled. Spreading her arms, as if to goad Yemir even further into attacking her. Naturally, this worked as Yemir barred her teeth, hands clenched into fists as she charged forward. Reckless as ever. Baozhai stood still, her eyes locked onto the Gallade, making no noise or movement until the brawny shrimp was right on top of her. Arm curled back, ready to deck Baozhai right in that pretty little face of hers. Yemir swung forward, only for her eyes to widen as Baozhai shifted to the side. Face stuck in that mocking expression as she gave Yemir a sharp slap over the back of her head with one of her ghostly hands. Yemir stumbled a bit, having swung her punch, only to meet nothing but air. Bao’s playful gesture only served to enrage Yemir further as the Cofagrigus merely chortled at her.

“Come now, surely you can do better than this, no? I thought Yemir was undefeatable”, the ghost taunted. Only adding to Yemir’s frustrations. The Gallade said nothing aside from low grunts and snarls. Her hands trembling at the chance to punch the snooty Cofagrigus. Yet, no matter how often Yemir lunged at Baozhai. All she received in response was that obnoxious smack over the back of her head. Again and again. The brute’s rage was starting to boil at this point. Any sense of caution thrown to the wind as her speed started to build up. Baozhai even noticed Yemir’s mass increasing as the seconds went by. In a couple of minutes, she had almost reached Baozhai’s height herself. Good progress, but not enough for Baozhai.

“Tell me, how does someone like yourself get praised for being such a good warrior? You have the brawn, yes. But that’s all you have. No thought behind your actions. No tact or strategy. Just swinging away with your massive fists. Maybe the only reason they praised you as such is that most didn’t know how to fight to begin with. Nothing but skill-less fools praising a bigger fool who was simply stronger than them.” Bao’s words tore into Yemir’s pride like a pack of hungry Houndoom digging into a fresh kill. “Shut it!”, the giant yelled, her fists swinging faster, more furiously. Yet Baozhai always seemed one step ahead. Just barely out of reach of her punches. “Shut it? Why should I? All you’ve been doing is running your mouth ever since we started our little journey. You can’t even touch me”, Baozhai taunted, her eyes narrowed at the giant. A blood vessel popped in Yemir’s forehead as her teeth grated against each other. Her mouth clenched in anger. Bringing out another punch to throw Baozhai’s way.

The Cofagrigus yawned, prepared to dodge another of Yemir’s blows.However, as the massive arm crossed Baozhai’s path, she felt a sharp sting on her face. Hissing, she pulled back, reaching towards her face, only to pull back. Green blood stained her black hand. Yemir… hit her? How? She didn’t see the punch connect with her face. Yet the damage was apparent to the old ghost. Yemir merely had an angry smile on her face. Pleased, she managed to land a hit on Baozhai, even if the effect wasn’t intended. “Keep on talkin’, Bao. I’ll wipe that smirk of yer face just yet”, the giant proclaimed loudly. Baozhai was silent for a few seconds before her mocking demeanor became considerably more serious. “You’ll regret that.”

Not wanting to let up on Baozhai, Yemir charged once more. Keeping the pressure on the ancient Cofagrigus as best she could. Yet as she was about to land a punch on Baozhai, all the giant could hear was a dull thud. Confused, Yemir turned her head to the side, only to see Baozhai standing her ground. Using both her forearms as a shield, the Cofagrigus managed to tank Yemir’s hit, barely budging from her spot. Baozhai merely glared back at Yemir with an angry smile of her own. “Hm, is this the best punch you can throw? Pathetic”, the ghost mocked. Her ghostly hair suddenly sprouted a life of its own. Wrapping around Yemir’s arm like snakes and squeezing ever so tightly so Yemir couldn’t get away. The growing giant had little time to contemplate Baozhai’s words or moves as she felt a ghastly energy well up near her abdomen. Looking down, the Gallade made note of a ShadowBall swelling up in size. Baozhai’s human hand near it as the energy felt more intense with each passing moment.

Yemir could barely let out a word as Baozhai unleashed her attack. Yemir let out a screech as she felt her massive body sent rocketing back. The ghostly energy orb driving into her body like a runaway train. Slamming into any poor tree caught in her way. Yemir was sent flying through the forest, leaving a small path of destruction in her wake as Baozhai merely stood up, watching her handiwork in action as a bright flash of purple, followed by a loud boom went off. “Ah… Perhaps I got a bit too carried away there. Haos would never let me hear the end of it if I wound up killing her.” The ghost knew better, though. Yemir certainly had a reputation for being resilient.

As Baozhai slowly made her way towards the impact zone, she made note of all the broken trees. Nothing but smouldering stumps at this point. The Shadowball had sent Yemir flying quite some ways away. Dozens of yards by the look of it. Until naught but a pile of broken trees and charred ground piled up where the giant once remained. “Yemir, are you still alive?”, the ghost called out. Leaning forward to get a better look, hoping for some sign of life. Yet it remained eerily silent. The Cofagrigus frowned, her body starting to tense up a bit as she expected Yemir to burst out of there any second now. Until she felt something grip her legs.

Her head snapped down, only to notice the shadows had sprung to life. Wrapping around her calves and ankles, as if they had a life of their own as Baozhai’s expression changed from one of uncertainty to one of regret. “Fuck”, was all the ghost could utter as the pile of debris suddenly exploded. Yemir, restored in all her monolithic glory, lept forth. Eyes wide with determination and fury. Her right arm reared back for one hell of a punch. Only this one was different. Her elbow vent had been spouting flames, roaring like a jet engine as Bao’s gut curled into a tight ball, her throat locked. The mummy could only brace herself before she felt several tons of might and rage slam into her. The Cofagrigus was slammed into the ground, the breath knocked out of her. All she could do was yell in pain as Yemir continued her unrelenting assault, constantly pounding her oversized fists into Baozhai’s chest as all Baozhai could do was yell in anger. Being driven further and further into the ground as the entire area around her shattered into a crater. Until, eventually, all that remained was a massive hole where Baozhai once stood. Yemir towering over it, breathing heavily as her anger simmered down a bit.

“... Well, that’s one way to vent me anger, I suppose”, Yemir grumbled to herself. Surveying all the destruction she had caused. The crater was much bigger than she expected. Staring at her arms, she made note of her elbow vent. Still smoking from the raw power she had just released. A big smile spread across her face. She didn’t know how she did it. But with those elbow vents, she could make her punches hit harder. Who knows what else she could do with them as well? Yemir didn’t waste much time reflecting on this, staring at the hole in the ground where Baozhai used to be. “Oi! Bao, ya in there?” Yemir called out, only to be greeted with silence. “Huh, maybe I punched her too hard,'' Yemir grunted. Looking at the scene of destruction before her. It was enough to flatten a small town and then some.

After staring at the Baozhai shaped hole in the ground for a few more seconds. Yemir merely shrugged her shoulders before turning around and walking away. The giant had no interest in following Baozhai anymore, to be quite frank. Yemir just didn’t feel like dealing with her bullshit anymore. As the giant lumbered forth a few yards, an all too familiar voice called out to her. Making Yemir’s ears perk up. “Leaving so soon? I thought we were just getting warmed up”, called out the cold, yet condescending voice of Baozhai. Spinning around in disbelief, Yemir’s eyes widened upon seeing Baozhai standing before her. Her armor had seen better days, a few chips and cracks here and there. Her otherwise perfect face bruised, green blood dripping down the corner of her mouth while her normally smooth and straight hair had been frayed and messy.

Yet, Yemir noticed something off about Baozhai. Behind her chilly demeanor, her eyes seethed with a fire the brute thought missing in the empress. Admittedly, Yemir was impressed by the old ghost’s resilience. Most people wouldn’t take such a beating and get back up. Smirking, Yemir crossed her arm, staring down at Baozhai with a cocky grin. “Heh, I guess those dusty warriors follow ya fer a reason. But ya still pissed me off, so don’t expect me to go easy on ya”, the giant grunted, Baozhai simply narrowed her eyes at Yemir. The giant herself raised a brow when the Cofagrigus slowly unsheathed her sword. Holding it in one hand as Yemir merely smiled wider. “So, finally decided to take me seriously, aye? Good. I’m done talkin’ with ya”, Yemir grunted. Cracking her knuckles as the Cofagrigus assumed a defensive stance with her blade. As if expecting Yemir to make the first move.

The giant did not disappoint. Her smile replaced with a scowl, Yemir lunged at Baozhai. Her fists alight with fire, hoping to crush baozhai under the weight of her attack. Baozhai simply dodged to the side. A glint of steel crossed Yemir’s eyes, followed by a sharp pain. A large one opened up on her right forearm. A small geyser of purple blood sprayed out as Yemir’s eyes widened in surprise. She didn’t even see Baozhai swing her sword. The Cofagrigus didn’t let up. Weaving and ducking through every punch Yemir threw her way. Responding in kind with a swing of a sword. Slicing her way the giant’s flesh as if it were butter. Annoyed with all these scratches and nicks, Yemir bellowed mightily, slamming her clenched fists together as steam erupted from her body. Her muscles contracted, growing ever denser as her skin color darkened. As Baozhai swung her sword, her eyes widened as she felt the sword meet resistance. The flesh harder to carve through.

Yemir took it a step further, the shadows around them began to waver and twist. Darkened tendrils sprouting out of them like sharpened blades, jutting towards Baozhai. The mummy lept back, wincing as she felt a few nick her in the areas her armor didn’t cover. Yemir let out a roar as she charged at the retreating ghost. Her throat began to glow before a torrent of blue flames erupted from her mouth. Baozhai lept back, feeling the sapphire flames singe the tip of her hair, a small sneer forming on her face. Holding up her other hand, another Shadowball formed from Bao’s ghastly energy. Yet, the Cofagrigus did not throw it at Yemir, even as she managed to stay one step ahead of Yemir’s fiery breath. Instead, Baozhai pointed the tip of her blade at the ghostly sphere before piercing it. The energy enveloping the bladed. Taking on the shape of the sword itself, but doubling its length.

Yemir’s eyes widened, closing her mouth as she made note of what Baozhai pulled off. The back of her hair stood on edge. Her gut clenched while a dry lump formed in her throat. Something told the brute she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that. Spotting a boulder nearby that managed to survive their skirmish. Yemir plunged both her hands around it, plucking it out of the ground with a mighty lift. Yemir opened her mouth, spewing more flames around the rock. Seemingly clinging to it, as if it had a desire to never let go. The fire itself seemed to have no effect on the titan as she let it plop on the ground. The shadows around her danced and stretched, reaching out to the boulder before wrapping around it. Plunging one hand near the flaming rock, the shadows reached out, coiling around Yemir’s arm and holding tight.

A manic smile spread across Yemir’s face as she lifted her arm back up, the boulder followed suit, the shadows keeping the two tethered as the burly brute began to swing the flaming boulder around like a ball n’ chain. Baozhai had little time to react, rolling to the ground as she felt the heat of the massive rock pass by her. Mere inches from knocking her head off. Yet, despite it all, Baozhai retained her composure, unflinching in the face of Yemir’s might. Sword in hand, Baozhai sprung back into action. Racing right towards Yemir. This caught the giant off guard, swinging the flaming boulder around recklessly, in the vain hopes of crushing Baozhai. This did not deter Baozhai, who sprinted ever closer. Yemir pulled back her weapon, having it land perfectly in her meaty palm before swinging it horizontally, hoping to sweep Baozhai along with it. Yet Baozhai managed to slide underneath it, mere feet away from Yemir as her amber eyes burned brightly with determination.

It all happened so fast as the Cofagrigus lept forth, the ethereal blade slicing through her shadow tethered arm effortlessly. The giant felt nothing at first, naively thinking nothing happened. Only to watch as her limb suddenly separated from her shoulder. Flying through the air as it was still attached to the boulder. Careening some distance away before landing on the ground with an unceremonious thump. Yemir let out a loud yell, clutching at the stump where her right arm used to be as blood gushed out of it, the pain wracking through her body. Though the giant seemed to treat it more as an inconvenience then the fact she just lost an arm. Her grip tightened as she turned her head back at Baozhai. Her mismatched eyes glaring at the mummy, anger beginning to rise once more while the mummy matched her stare in ferocity. The two were silent before Baozhai simply uttered, “do you yield?”

Yemir snarled at the mummy, her teeth bared as she felt tempted to lunge for and crush the ancient spirit with her powerful jaws. Yet, in the back of Yemir’s mind, she recalled the little promise she had made to her father. Her face quivered before letting out a sigh, “I yield.” “Good”, the mummy seemed satisfied with Yemir’s response. Staring at her sword, Bao swung the blade to the side, flicking the titan’s blood off of it. “Sting is satisfied with the battle. Now fetch your arm, I would hate to see you forget the trinkets your father left behind”, the mummy stated. Yemir rolled her eyes, even though she wasn’t that forgetful as she stumbled forward to retrieve her missing limb. Baozhai walked in step by Yemir’s side, silently eyeing the giant’s wound while Yemir leaned forward, picking the limb up with her free hand. “Excellent, let us make haste, lest we attract unwanted guests with our little scuffle”, Baozhai gestured to all the destruction around them. Yemir merely stared at Baozhai as she turned around and began to walk away. 

“Why?”, the giant called out. Stopping the empress in her tracks as Yemir took a step forward. “Why are ya doing this? Ye hate my guts. Sliced my damn arm off fer fuck’s sake. But ya still want me with you. Why?”, the giant called out as Baozhai remained silent before simply responding with, “I have a duty to my friends, nothing more.” Yemir’s mouth curled into a snarl as she took another step forward. “Bullshit!”, the giant yelled at the top of her lungs. “There’s more than just fucking duty! Yer a bitch, there’s gotta be a better reason!” Baozhai turned her head in response to this, her eyes matching Yemir with a frosty glare. “Say that again”, the ghost demanded of Yemir, her tone unwavering.

Yemir paused, looking down at the severed hand she clutched tightly before looking back up at Baozhai. “Yer a bitch.” Baozhai merely let out an icy laugh, chilling Yemir’s soul. “You’re right, I am a bitch… Does it matter, though?”, the warrior ghost replied as she crossed her arms. Yemir tilted her head, trying to respond. Yet nothing would come out as she fumbled with the words. “I’m a bitch. A tyrant. A devil. I’ve been called these things and more by those who hated me with every fiber of their being. But does it matter? To which I would say, no, it didn’t. Want to know why? Because they lacked the power to be right”, Baozhai proclaimed casually. Waving an arm, as if to dismiss these accusations.

“It’s one thing to speak the truth. It’s another to have the power to back it up as well. For what good is “truth” if you can’t maintain your own? What good is the wailing of those who had been conquered, yet lacked the strength to stand up and make their truth become a reality? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing”, Baozhai stated, her serene expression became more menacing as a result. “You want to know why I’m helping you? True, I do have my duty to my friend. But I also have my own reasons. If I am to retake my kingdom, my region. What good is ruling if I have naught but cinders and the entire world breathing down my back?”, the ghost explained, expression never faltering. “You think those Golurks were trouble? They’re only the beginning! In case you fail to notice, you practically nuked an entire forest, caused untold damage to a nearby city and the surrounding area-”, only to be cut off by Yemir. 

“-That wasn’t my fault, it was Whisper and Eudai’s fault!”, Yemir retorted. Baozhai’s serene expression shattered in an instant. “It is your fucking fault, Yemir! You think just because your siblings pissed you off that it makes things better? Men, women, children. You killed everyone in that area and now they’ll want blood! You think people give a fuck? Honestly, answer me that. Do they give a shit about you throwing a little temper tantrum because Eudai is an asshole? No, they do not! The only thing that matters to them is your death and nothing will change that.” Baozhai was practically fuming with anger, Yemir unable to talk back as the mummy’s words hit the giant like a truck. After a few seconds, an aura surrounded Baozhai. Her seething rage subdued as she returned to her calmer demeanor. Staring back at Yemir, her expression.

“Let me ask you this. When you exploded, White Forest was gone. But do you believe your siblings perished on that day? Wiped away in the blast of your all consuming rage?” Yemir stared at the ground like a whipped dog. Unable to answer for a short bit before she took in a deep breath and sighed. “No, I never saw it and I have no memories of what happened in our fight fer the most part. But I can… feel them. Like me gut knows they’re still out there”, Yemir rumbled. Refusing to make eye contact with Baozhai. “I’ll take your word for it. If that’s the case, then they’ll likely take advantage of this situation. Use your desperation against you. Especially Eudai”, Baozhai commented, Yemir had a spark of anger in her from mention of that name.

“I know the pain that comes from betrayal, truly, I do. But going about this blindly, nonchalantly, there's no solution at all. You mentioned your brother wanting to become one. If this is the case, I want you to contemplate your brother holding the raw physical strength you’re capable of, as well as the strange power your sister wields. How well do you think that’ll go?” The question seemed to slap Yemir in the face as she lifted her head. “Not good.”

“Yes, not good at all. So ask yourself this. Which truth do you want to prevail? The truth of Eudai? Validated in his treachery. Or the truth of Yemir? Who managed to endure, despite the machinations of her siblings.” Yemir barely gave this question any thought. “My truth.” Baozhai smiled slightly at this, seemingly pleased with Yemir’s response. “As it should be. Now come, I’d really like a headstart before they come to “grace” us with their presence”, Baozhai scoffed as Yemir raised her brow, staring down at the empress. “Wha, wait. Who? Whose coming?” Yemir asked. Baozhai paused before staring back at Yemir. “White Forest is home to a great many deal of creatures. Yet, is special to a certain group that hailed from this region long ago.” Baozhai paused, turning her back to Yemir, but not before uttering a single word.

“Dragons.”

[damnusillygoose]

Somebody is jealous( jellal’s edition)

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13786166/2/somebody-is-jealous

for erza’s edition:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13786166/1/somebody-is-jealous

Thank you sapphireblue2007 for suggesting me to write jellal's version.

Disclaimer: these characters are rightfully owned by hiro sensei.

Somebody is Jealous (Jellal's edition)

Well, Jellal perceives himself as a very liberal and progressive person.

He wasn't a possessive person. No, not at all- Even in his relationship with Erza, he believed in giving ample space for growth and self-introspection to each other. He certainly didn't believe in getting jealous when one's partner gets some excessive attention from the opposite gender. Nope, not at all, he was a progressive person, wasn't he? He didn't want to smother her with suffocation. Jellal was aware of the fact that his woman was a strong person who didn't need anyone to save her. She was her own person and stood up for what she believed in. That's how he viewed relationships- a sweet added bonus to one's life, separate from a person's purpose in life.

Yet,

He felt horrified, as he realised, he was shamelessly contradicting his very own beliefs. His eyes twitched in mild irritation, well not exactly mild- only slight, that's how he soothed his not so jealous soul, as he watched the scene before him unfold.

His beloved was sitting comfortably on one of the chairs kept near the bar, eating her sweet dessert in contentment, oblivious to the lusty stares that eyed her glorious exposed thighs and cleavage. There were men hovering around her, drooling repugnantly.

Erza was a beautiful woman. It was an established fact. Not only did she win various beauty pageants, but she also attracted scores of men who simped after her and bolstered her as their 'waifu'!

Jellal was fucking replete with fury when he came to learn about this obnoxious verbiage. What a derogatory term! He opined. How dare they lust after Erza and claim her as their 'waifu'?! well, typically he was doing the same. But he was her partner and it's pretty healthy in a relationship to be intimately attracted to your partner! Yep, he reasoned with his conscience.

It was no secret that men secretly/openly lusted after females who were fairly popular. Given fairy tail's reputation, they were inglorious for being rambunctious all over the continent. This shouldn't come as a surprise to Jellal that Erza was kind of a national crush of Fiore. She even got disgusting offer letters from rich officials asking her to be their mistress. Every single person, be it a man or a woman, acknowledged her regal presence. Wherever they went, people were in awe of her. She was a beautiful woman, confident and sassy, along with a splendid personality. Who wouldn't be attracted to such an amazing person?

Analysing her fan following, he was sure of the fact that Erza must have dated some men in the past. However, He gasped in utter disbelief when he got to know that despite of the attention she received; she never laid her eyes on another man. They were reserved for him. Always.

He was her first man, the first man who held her hand, the first man who witnessed her vulnerable side, her first kiss, the one who took her virginity, the one she would like to start a family with and the only one who she would devote her heart to.

Forever.

That gave him a superior complex over all those degenerates who hated him for stealing their waifu.

Her devotion made him feel extremely fortunate, to get a woman who would choose him over everything else.

But that didn't mean that he couldn't get jealous.

'Oi chad, snap out from your murderous intent, will ya?'

'Laxus.'

'What happened? Why are you in such a bad mood?', Laxus raised his eyebrows in amusement. It was fun teasing Jellal especially when he was in a foul mood.

'Jelly-chan is jealous because other men in the party are eyeing Erza ravenously!', Meredy chimed in the scene, humming a tune under her breath almost nonchalantly.

Laxus let out a nasty cackle as he smashed his beer pint against the wooden table they currently occupied. Meredy joined in with her sniggers; annoying Jellal in his misery.

'Cheer up Jelly chan, if you brood so much, you will end up getting wrinkles quickly and look almost 20 years elder to Erza!'

'Stop calling me Jelly chan, Meredy!'

'Why? I think that name suits you a lot Jellal.'

Oh no.

The trio turned around to acknowledge the owner of this sardonic comment.

Erik approached the group with a wide smirk plastered on his face, much to Jellal's discontentment.

What a great timing. Now they will gang up to bully me.

'Say Jellal, want to murder those assholes? I could feel your malignity from the far end of the hall, reverberating louder than Gajeel's singing shit'

'I wouldn't go that far, they are just harmless flies'

Actually, he could.

'Then why are you getting so hot-headed over those harmless flies?', Meredy smiled knowingly.

'I am not.'

'oh boss! Stop lying with your pathetic ass!'

'I am not lying Erik!'

Erik scoffed at his reply. He didn't even try to hide it.

'Then what do you plan on doing chad boy? Just sit in a corner like a lost puppy and watch as those men eye your woman?', laxus joined in the conversation, adding oil to the fuming spark.

'I can't pause to throw a stone at every dog that barks. Plus, Erza is a strong woman. I shouldn't stick my nose where it isn't needed. I think she is capable of handling this herself.'

But actually, he was trying his best not to jump in the scene and take her away from those bastards but he didn't want to appear as a jealous freak who had no control over his irrational aspect.

'of course, she is Jellal', Meredy reasoned,' but a woman, no matter how strong she is, would love to be spoiled by her man and feel protected. That doesn't mean you are undermining her strength. It's called chivalry.'

'…'

'What about ramming some hot iron rods up in their assholes?', laxus had no chill at all.

'Laxus your speech is so vulgar', Jellal cringed.

'Not as vulgar as your mind, boss'

'Erik, listen up- '

'it's okay Jellal', Meredy patted his back sympathetically, 'You are always harsh on yourself. You don't have to berate yourself so much. Being jealous is a sign of affection after all.'

'Really?', he raised his eyebrows in suspicion.

'Well, when exercised in moderation. Don't become Juvia though.', Laxus grimaced in exasperation.

'I just-I can't handle those people who eye her like she is their personal property!'

'Oohoohoo, finally the lover boy is being honest!', laxus slapped his hand against jellal's back harshly.

Jellal ignored his remark and chose to focus upon what Erza was doing.

Erza, unfortunately, was already surrounded by random men drooling over her assets while he was busy merry making with his guild mates.

He was pissed. He was fucking pissed.

He clenched his fist in impuissance until his knuckles turned white. He let out a shaky breath, biting his lips, trying his best not to eradicate their existence by casting sema right at this moment

'Erza-sama, I know this beautiful villa by the country side that I can rent for you. Would you like to witness that scenic beauty? I can make the arrangement just for the two of us.'

'uh, no thank you. I am not interested, I am busy at the moment with my ongoing missions but I would certainly take-out time to visit this said place with my friends and my boyfriend', Erza exaggerated the last part to make this pathetic pervert clear of the fact that she wasn't interested in his offer.

'He doesn't need to know'

'When I said I won't go, I won't go. Please learn to respect a woman.'

She was already seething at this moment, ready to requip in her armour to beat the shit out of these perverts but she held herself back. This was an important party for her guild as many magic council officials appeared to discuss some important matters with master Makarov.

'Erza-sama!', another pervert chimed in, 'what about-!

'My honeyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!'

Erza felt a shiver travelling down her spine even before she could react from the horror of hearing his voice. She didn't need to see who this abhorrent creature was. She didn't even acknowledge him as a person. Ichiya had already latched himself around her leg giving it a wild sniff, trespassing all boundaries of her private space.

This is it. This was her limit.

She was shaking wild. Her fingers were itching from wrath as she tried to remove him from her. These men latched themselves upon her despite being firmly rejected by her. She was being polite and considerate of her guild. That's the only reason she somehow tolerated their creepy remarks. She desperately searched for familiar eyes through the crowd that was bustling from the onset of vibrant ebullience. She grew impatient by every single moment when she failed in her search to find them. That's when she felt a presence behind her. The eyes she was searching for were already looking down from their vantage but not at her. She followed his eyes to find them glued on Ichiya.

Jellal got hold of Ichiya's hand and ruthlessly broke him apart from Erza's legs, not caring for a single second where his poor ass landed.

'Ichiya-san, that's a unique way of greeting someone. It could very well qualify as harassment you know', Jellal hissed menacingly, walking in front of Erza to make a defensive guard around her.

Jellal was a master at hiding his emotions and maintaining a stoic demeanour but Erza could still look beyond that very well.

He appeared perfectly placid but he wasn't.

His eyes bellowed bloodlust. He was growling with belligerence.

He was not going to let these repulsive hands touch the body that he revered so much.

The rest of the crowd started to disperse, succumbing to the impingement Jellal displayed, while laxus, Meredy and Erik watched the scene in awe. That's the impact Jellal's presence wielded.

There was a limit to which this man could tolerate bullshit after all. This was Jellal, who was fiercely protective of the woman he loved.

Erza snickered to herself smugly seeing the crowd become frail upon his arrival. These were some spineless cowards who weren't even half the man her Jellal was.

Jellal blissfully ignored the crowd that was whispering his name with resentment, something along the lines of 'their waifu'

He looked at Erza, taking in a deep breath of relief as he put his hands over her shoulders securely.

'Well gentlemen, I just remembered that my boyfriend and I have some work to do, if you will excuse us.' Erza stood up from her chair and bowed her head signalling her departure as she grabbed hold of jellal's hands, leading them across the hall through the exit door. Jellal looked at his guild mates who were giving him smug smiles and thumbs ups.

After exiting the guild, Jellal let out a sigh as they strode further away from that crowd. He still was shaking, his hysteria urging him to go back and beat the shit out of those bastards. He tore his thoughts away from the former events and looked sideways at the enchanting woman walking by his side.

'This dress really looks nice on you.'

'Thank you, sweetheart', Erza smiled and turned her face to give him a chaste peck on his cheeks. 'But I think I will opt for a less revealing outfit next time for a formal party like this'

'Why?'

'tch, didn't you see for yourself what happened today?'

'Don't fret about those assholes, just wear what you want', he snaked his arm around her waist protectively to pull her closer to him.

Jellal rarely cursed, that meant he was infuriated right now.

'Jellal', she whispered lovingly, taking his face in her hands, 'look at me'

He locked his gaze with her, facing her completely. His arms gently fondled her waist, pulling her entirely towards himself.

She leaned into him, melting like butter.

'I love you Jellal.' She brought his face towards hers until their foreheads were touching each other, 'Thank you for helping me back then. I was really helpless'.

They closed their eyes and sighed in synchronisation. She felt his arms locking her into a tight embrace, clutching the fabric of her dress.

'I just…..couldn't help myself when I saw them degrading you like that.' He felt the weight of her hands shifting down towards his neck, near his sensitive spot which only she knew about, caressing it to calm him down.

'Thank you love, but don't over-exert yourself over this issue, this isn't worth your time and effort', she looked at him tenderly. Jellal was such a worrywart but she loved him the same.

'yeah…you are right', he leaned into her, nuzzling his nose with hers, her sweet scent taming his raging heartbeat down, 'I love you too'

It's almost been a year since they started dating and obviously they never hesitated to show their love to each other- verbally, physically or emotionally, but Erza would never get tired of Jellal saying 'I love you' to her. She had dreamed about it so long, she yearned about it ever since she realised her feelings for him, she would never take his confessions for granted. It still had the same impact on her as the first time he poured his heart out to her.

Such was their affection for each other-always raging against the odds.

The hooting of the owls could be heard in the depth of the night. A sudden breeze struck her form as she shivered from the lack of her clothing, she had worn a simple flowy dress, not deemed to be fit in a chilly weather.

'it's getting cold Erza', Jellal pointed out as he draped his coated over her shoulders, 'let's go home'.

She hummed lightly in solace as she felt his lips softly touch her forehead. She entwined her hand with his as they started treading towards the path that led to their small cottage, their personal heaven.

'Can you make me a strawberry smoothie with vanilla ice cream?', she asked him tentatively, testing her waters.

'I thought you wanted to curb your midnight snacking'

'But jelllaaaaaaaaaaaal!', she wailed in desperation, 'dealing with those perverts drained my energy!'

'I can always make a bowl of fruits oats for you.'

'Noooooooo! That's way too heathy!'

'Okay how about this?', he tried to reason with her, 'I'll make milk oats for you with honey and loads of freshly cut strawberries. Sounds like a good deal to me, what do you think?'

She thought about the offer for a moment. It did actually sound like a good deal. She knew she kind of gave in to her midnight sugar cravings. Milk oats were a heathier option.

She pouted and tried to act a little spoiled, 'only if you bribe me.'

'What a scandal! The great titania is asking for a bribe!', he nudged her shoulder playfully and she huffed in response to his actions, 'what are your demands?'

'You need to pepper me with as many kisses as I ask you for!'

' My, My, I was already planning on giving you a thousand kisses when we reach home, don't worry about that', he replied as he gave her a wink making her blush profusely.

If anyone heard them conversing in this manner, their eyeballs would pop out from their eye sockets. They were incredible mages, well versed with the ethics of professionalism. They completed their tasks seriously but when they were alone, it becomes a different story.

A/N: if you liked my story please leave a review and do check out my works as well.

Constructive criticism is appreciated.

Keep loving Jerza!

[scarletbluebird13]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a general MK fic where whilst they’re doing something in public (i.e. dinner, shopping), we catch sight of an enemy, and a few moments later, chaos ensues and after we go BAMF, we end up with an injury that is quite serious but we brush it off? Thanks if ever you choose to do this :)

Damn Idiot

*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°

Title: Masquerade Kiss

Pairing: ?(ambiguous) x MC 

Tags: idk what to put here; shonen?? 

Triggers: mention of blood, fighting, stabby-stabby, heavy cursing

Word count: 2038

A/N: Hiya! Thank you for the request, Nonnie! <3 I hope this is at least close to what you wanted - since no character was specified and you requested a fic, I decided to write you a fic with no specifics on who the suitor is -- hopefully his role is ambiguous enough any of the four guys could fit in <3 And I know you probably wanted one of the guys to have the cool action moment -- but MC got snubbed in her own series in all four routes and I didn’t feel right downgrading her capabilities here either -- Hope this is pretty close to what you had in mind, my apologies if it wasn’t what you wanted. Luv you Nonnie! Thank you for your request~ It was appreciated (lol thanks for laying out a general idea for what you wanted and giving me enough creative space) Feedback/criticism always welcome <3 :)

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Palm to palm, interlocking fingers - his warmth seeps into my hand. A welcomed sensation and one I’m used to. A sensation dearly missed. I’ve just returned from a month-long mission in Los Angeles. All the sunshine in that state doesn’t come close to the warmth emanating from his hand. Typically, he’d find a way to be with me - he can be impulsive at times, but then again, what did I reasonably expect when I decided I wanted us to take the next step in our relationship? I’ve missed him so much - all those lonely nights without him…the other side of the bed empty and his smell absent from the sheets. Heh. But the nights we teased each other even though we were on different continents were fantastic. ...I wonder how tonight will go…? 

“What are you smirking about?”  

I glance up at him - but the way he’s so cool and collected in public, you’d never guess that handsome face was capable of mercilessly teasing me.

“What fun is it if I just tell you?”

A smirk tugs at his lips, satisfied with my response as he replies; “I’d expect nothing less from you.”

My heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest as he gives my hand a squeeze - it’s embarrassing, but I couldn’t care less. I haven’t seen him in a month - I’ve craved his touch - and right now, it’s like we’re both immune to the stares of onlookers. Murmurs and sharp whispers can’t reach us. Not only could we care less about pda - what they say, what they think; none of it matters. What’s more? Today happens to be our anniversary and since I managed to complete the mission just in time, he’s decided to take me out on a mystery date - though, he’s so unpredictable I don’t have the slightest clue where we’re headed. 

Basking in the rare happiness and serenity, however, lay my own suspicions. 

I’ve had this sinking feeling since we began walking hand-in-hand - like there’s more to the onlookers than just passersby shocked at harmless hand holding. But today’s our day off, so I push my worries out of my mind, letting them settle in the peripheral of my mind’s eye. 

However, it’s not long before my heart begins accelerating with new meaning. 

I hear rapid footsteps approaching from behind - ones with purpose and imperativeness. All my instincts as an agent - and one who just wrapped up a mission the other day, no less - tell me this is no accident and this person means to charge toward us. Careful to not harm an innocent man running late for something or another, I look in the reflection of the window of the store in front of us, and see the man looks sketchy. Even though his eyes are covered, it’s clear he’s burning daggers at us. Whoever the target - the man at my side or myself - my instinct is to place a bullseye on this guy. 

When I see he’s too close and a millisecond would be too late to do anything, I drop the hand at my side, face the person, and land a hard kick to the ribs. In no way is the blow fatal, just enough to send the poor soul to the ground, coughing up blood. 

“___, do you know him?” 

“Oh yeah! He’s my best friend from high school, we used to do everything together- No. Of course I don’t know him.”

“Oh~ So even after kicking a man to the ribs she’s got her spice?”

“Shut up. He’s got friends.” 

And in just a moment, some of the onlookers have come to the man’s side. The others, clearly civilians, run in all directions, screaming.

“You’re a real bitch, you know?” The man with a bloody mouth says. 

“Oh is that the kind of impression I left? Glad I was memorable. Who’s lackey are you? Remind me?”

“Tch. Doesn’t matter. You’ll be face-to-face with him once we beat your sorry ass.” 

“Oooh I’m so scared.” 

“Shut up you bitch!!” I throw a punch at this annoying fool, right in the gut, my hand burning from the impact and my leg doing no better. Bad day to wear heels.  

The sorry excuse for a lackey goes flying before hitting the ground with a dull thud. Taking his place, another lackey from the crowd charges at me, and I’m able to take care of him. But there’s another - and if it weren’t for his timing, I’d have been hit. But he narrowly misses me. And that’s because the one I love steps in, punching the second lackey before he can reach me.

“Why’d you do that? I can handle this.” I say, a bit irritated at him. But I won’t lie, seeing him in action makes my heart pound - in a good way.

“A man who tries to beat a woman is not a man. That’s all.” He says, glaring the motherfucker down.

“This is my fight, not yours. Let me handle it-”

“I told you the same thing about a year ago. What was it you said to me?” He says, throwing a warm look at me from over his shoulder. With that I fall silent, remembering the love I feel for him in that moment a year ago. The same shattering fear of losing him. Of being without him. Wanting him to be okay in the end - it comes back tenfold. He gives me a soft smile before looking away from me, getting ready to fight;

“You don’t have to do this alone. I’m right here. Rely on me. Please.”

Before I know it, we’re taking out lackeys left and right, obliterating them. Rather, we should. At least one of us is an active agent with a severe training regime. 

Even with all that training

you’d think 

that I would consider every possible outcome. 

Good and bad. 

I finish up with the last pitiful excuse for a lackey when I turn around. I see the first guy coming back for another ass whooping with a sharp knife. I’m ready to take him on and disarm him the way I’ve been trained to do under certain circumstances, however, much to my horror, I see something I’ve never wanted to see since I realized how much he means to me. 

His silhouette flashes before me, his back encompassing my field of vision. I hear nothing. Feel the anguish and petrifying panic shock my nervous system. I feel faint. Like I could fall over at any minute. My hands are so pale, so cold, I forget what it means to be warm.

The only thing I see, the only thing I smell

is blood.

I’m ready to fall to my knees and scream his name but I can’t. I can’t stop now. I know I have to take out the last son-of-a-motherfucking-bitch-whore. And I wish it was the sight of his blood staining his back serving as the final thing that snapped me out of it. I wish it didn’t take me hearing his grunt and painful sighs to wake me up. I wish I would’ve sprung into action before he had the reflexes to jump in front of me like that. There’s so much I could wish for - but none of it will come true. Because the truth is I wasn’t fast enough. The truth remains that he got stabbed. And right now, all that matters is that I show the piece of motherfucking shit what happens when they go after someone so close to me. 

With tears stinging my eyes and blurring my vision I gather all my strength and run towards the fucker.

Fueled with a hundred fires burning in my core, distressed and angry and scared for his damn life, my movements are hastier and packed with more roaring fireballs than ever before. 

I catch the fucker’s wrist when he tries to stab me, and I twist it as hard as I motherfucking can.  

He screams in agony and tries to reach for his injured wrist with his other hand. And to that one, I merely said ‘hell fucking no’ before punching his uninjured arm’s elbow. My fingers were red and trembling, and they hurt like hell for all the punches I’d been throwing, but I can hardly feel any of the pain. Seeing the piece of shit in front of me writhe in excruciation serves as my anesthetic. You don’t get to be one of the Boss’s top agents by not working for it. 

Pathetic excuse for a lackey gets off easy. It wouldn’t do me any good to murder him (he’s not worth the effort anyway). While he’s distracted with what I’m sure must be the most excruciating pain of his life (I guarantee it is. This hurts more than a seventh grade breakup. More than pineapple on pizza. More than getting shot. I know this because I caused that pain. If this isn’t the worst pain he’s ever been in, I’m not doing my job - even though this is my fuckin day off. My anniversary with my boyfriend of all the damn days. And to top it off, the day after I get back home after not seeing him for an entire month. Fucker has some balls trying to mess with me today), I walk behind him and shove him to the ground. I put some pressure on his leg and ask him one simple question;

“Whose motherfucking lackey are you?”

“Screw you bitch.”

“Wrong answer.” I coldly spit out, putting more pressure on his leg. 

But I stop. I hear a painful sigh, and look up. He’s clutching his wound and walking towards me with a little glint in his eye. And in that moment I forget all about the fucker beneath me and I go over to him instead. 

“Stop walking - it looks like it’s really serious. You’re bleeding out and need-” I’m cut off by his lips on mine. My heart accelerates and it stops at the same time. My body tenses up and warm tears of relief stain my cheeks as I finally reciprocate the kiss. 

“Are you okay?” I ask him, looking deep into those eyes that see more than an agent. See more than a woman. They look past all I am and all I am not and see me for me. 

“Yes, it’s not that bad anyway.” He says, his voice strained.

“Liar. You’re bleeding out. You need help.” 

“No, I swear I’m fine. This is nothing. Besides, are you okay?”

“I’m not the one who’s stabbed, so yeah, I’d say I’m okay.” 

He chuckles a little before slightly grimacing.

“Okay, you need help. Now.” 

“Bet you I don’t.”

“That’s one bet you’d lose and another I wouldn’t ever want to take any chances on.”

“I love you - you’re incredible. I knew you were perfectly capable of taking those guys out on your own - and probably a hundred more - but wow.” 

I hit his shoulder a little bit before staring him down and scolding him;

“I appreciate your help, but I was trained for this. Or did you forget that part? I could’ve handled it much quicker and definitely painless by myself. Why did you jump in front of a knife like that?” 

“Because I didn’t want to lose you. I know you can handle yourself, but I wish you’d rely on me more. You’re not alone anymore. You have me. Or did you forget?”

“But what if I’d lost you?!” I scream, losing all control over my emotions, the reality of how close I could’ve come to losing him forever to the icy grip of death more than I can handle. “Did you think about that before you jumped in front of the fucking knife like that?! You damn idiot!”

He stays silent. All he does is let me sob against his chest. Though I try to be careful, as he was stabbed in the abdomen. He caresses my hair and holds me close. 

“I wasn’t thinking. He’d stabbed me before I knew I was in front of him. I’m so sorry I scared you like that.” He whispers against my hair, placing a gentle kiss atop my head. 

“Thank you for living.”

[peepingtoad]

OKAY SO. 

It’s not that often that I talk about what I really think about Jiraiya, and I guess I mean more how I feel about him, since I always try to write my ‘deeper’ headcanons/metas from a more... idk, trying not to get too emotional about it point of view. Basically it’s because I know how controversial he is, and I pretty much ritually avoid a lot of takes because I don’t want to get irritated about something that really doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme, because we’re all entitled to our opinions and I largely get my say through the act of writing and developing him how I see fit.

Which is enough for me, mostly, but for the purpose of reinforcing/building upon how I see my muse’s plight, working through some of my Sannin-feels and also to dip my toes into why I find blindly judgemental/single-faceted takes of him, his priorities and the Sannin’s bond so exasperating, I kinda feel like rambling my thoughts (feelings) anyway! 

Politely sticks this stream-of-consciousness mess under a cut.

So sometimes I do think about the fact that Jiraiya kinda, lmao, forgot about Everything Else in the world because of Orochimaru and his (frankly) obsession with him/them. And the fact that a ridiculously significant portion of bad shit that happened is down to his actions/inaction. And the fact that he really did go and leave the likes of Naruto (and maybe to a degree Kakashi, although there’s zero actual evidence he didn’t get involved given the strong indications of a great rapport in the canon), just because he was so hellbent on pursuing Orochimaru, who was not even shown to be affectionate towards him at the best of times. When I think about it in terms of Jiraiya being gone and the main reason we’re given for it, things suck for a number of people, and quite largely because of potentially unrequited/horribly communicated/obsessive JiraOro pursuits, in essence :’)

(And for all it’s still quite the rarepair, Jiraiya does express on accounts that he was destroyed when Oro left. I mean... this is the guy who rarely acknowledges his sadness so... It’s not my bias at all I sware)

Of course JiraTsu is very real in my eyes too, albeit a very different kinda tragic, as is OroTsu. And the messy poly ship? Ohohoho, even better, but... yeah. Tsunade does at least go her own way for a long time, as messed up as that is in itself, for reasons including the fact she seems to pointedly not heal or move on from her grief. And given the absolute debacle that was her and Jiraiya reuniting... and both her and Oro even discussing a possibility of sacrificing him... and just, them in general for that whole arc :’))) yeah. They are without a doubt messy and troubled, but even despite how fraught things become I genuinely think all the furtive expressions and the undercurrents of longing and the evasion of their past exhibits a history much deeper and full of lost love compared to many other team dynamics we get (otherwise the Three Way Divorce wouldn’t have been quite so horrible on them, would it? That and they’d probably have split up after Team Hiruzen was no more, if they really hated each other/just tolerated each other out of familiarity like I sometimes see speculated).

But yeah, back to our main man. Jiraiya’s intense (and frankly very Scorpio of him) love for our first series Big Bad kinda did ruin him and what he was setting out to do in some ways, to the degree that the actual story of Naruto wouldn’t be very much without him in terms of drama. I mean, he always loved a good story, right? So art imitates life, and innit just pathetic poetic.

And in so many ways it is incredibly tragic and pitiable that he’s Just Like That. Idealistic and warping everything terrible, no matter how bad, into adventure in his mind! As growth! As pain that makes you TOUGH and makes you a stronger man! As something to be pushed aside while you just keep on truckin’! Whatever anyone you love throws at you, it’s Totally Fine!

After so long narrating through his personal lens, I’ve come to realise he truly is so convinced that everything bad that happens, is sort of just... something he has to deal with and feel big and guilty and feelsy for while spinning it in ways that enable him to keep going. He just loads it on himself and sorta holds it. The fact he’s so sad and filled with sickly pining grief that he has to try and exorcise it with impulsive bouts of decadence? Fine. And it’s not abnormal at all, how he approaches things with such broad scope and just kinda... thoughtlessly wrecking-balls his way through everything he thinks is a great idea at the time. He experiences the fallout of these things and simultaneously feels the entire ravages of it acutely while compartmentalising it ever so neatly away. The crazy thing, too, is that he’s exceptionally convincing at making everything he does and how he handles things seem so grand and noble and romantic and tragic... but in a humorously self-deprecating and still ultimately very hopeful way, to the degree that I as a mun get caught up in his relentless optimism and forget he actually is a sad and heartbroken guy wrapped up in all this grandiosity.

Sometimes I do step back and look and I just think yeah, fuck, he really is a total disaster! He’s a walking disaster and he’s been so damaging to himself and others in so many ways, all because of acting on emotions and impulses without really thinking about the impact! He really did kinda give up on those who needed him and for what? A love that will never love him or prioritise him back? 

A wonderfully tragic theme that I do love with him, don’t get me wrong.

But then at the same time, there’s always more nuance to be had than just ‘he is a disaster and made bad choices, as tragic and romantic as it is, he was actually just selfish and kinda sucked in the end, pathetically whipped by his friends and unable to let go of what they had’. There’s more nuance to be had than reducing him to a purely romantically-inclined character, who just snubs everyone else for a doomed love... because in the end, I think a huge part of JiraOro’s demise in particular was that Oro felt immensely snubbed by Jiraiya when he stayed in Ame, when his loyalty to Konoha (as a place and people, not necessarily a system) and of course loyalty to his own ideals was prioritised over Oro.

To an extent, I feel like Tsunade could have been a similar case, were she not preoccupied with already having lost so much, and besides I really do think she and Jiraiya were quite firmly in best friend zone at that point. With Tsunade not being able to get comfortable around Jiraiya or to pursue any underlying affection for him because of the dumbass way he always behaved (understandably of her tbh), probably until she got with Dan, by which point I reckon Jiraiya started to really come through by showing how he valued her for her, where we see by them having each other’s backs so closely in the second war. Not to mention him generally respecting that his feelings for her have no place by the time he gets her back to Konoha.

In terms of that first split in Ame, Jiraiya, I feel, simply didn’t think him leaving was going to be a big deal, because the three were always fiercely headstrong people who had their own shit going on (simultaneously independent while also being, perhaps not to their knowledge, So Very Codependent). Not only that, but his overly affectionate ways and incessant jolliness were probably considered such a joke that he was basically like ‘they’ll be fine without me’. I certainly don’t think he felt needed by them, which I don’t think is their fault or a point of angst and ‘waaah poor blameless Jiraiya’, because quite honestly, the strain on their relationship was something I fully believe even he didn’t realise he needed out of at the time. His one-track mind was just on ‘save kids, teach kids, this is right, must seize opportunity to be the change I was told I’d be, not continue with this godforsaken war’

Selfish? Maybe. Well-intentioned? Certainly. Intended to hurt anyone or imply he stopped caring? No.

In essence, when it comes to why in the end Jiraiya seemed to be so horrendously bad at being around at the worst of times, at being responsible, whatever else (and I’m not even going to go into scenes intended to be comedic because, they are comedic)... I’ve got to look at it from more than just one view. It’s easy to say ‘he’s ridiculous and terrible because he pretty much flaked on what was important based on his whims/a doomed love/his dick’ (which I have seen said lmao) but there are so many other things at play here.

So I’m thinking, while he was shirking duties (godfatherly mainly)... did he actually consider that his most important duty? Was it anyone’s place to tell him it was? Minato didn’t, as I recall, and when he sacrificed himself he specifically left it to the Third because he (presumably) respected what his teacher was about and knew he wasn’t for staying put. Did Jiraiya not consider his primary duty to be to the prophecy, and in a more general sense fixing the big wrongs and trying to foil big dangers to his home? Were these things not pretty much what he existed for (as much as his faith wavered and went off the rails at times)? Was that not the main source of any real purpose he ever had, being a kid who showed practically no ambition before? Did he not pretty much redesign himself as being ‘from Mt. Myōboku’ rather than Konoha after two devastating wars, and thus is it not understandable for him not to focus solely on Konoha—not outright destroying it, still ultimately loyal to his home and not about to let anyone destroy it, but seeing that the world is in fact so much bigger than just his little town? Is that really something that’s so bad and wrong of him, in a story where the main cast’s country has a pretty fucking nasty system and is established to do so very early on? Is he not pretty revolutionary in his own brand of not blindly serving, but not going on a destroy-it-all frenzy either?

Also, was he not the only one who actually bothered to investigate Akatsuki and the forces that would see Naruto dead, in time? For all he did help bring Akatsuki into existence in ways, it was inevitable from before he even met the orphans that they were going to be groomed/moulded into what they became, regardless of whether Jiraiya came onto the scene. Jiraiya leaving them was just a different kind of suffering to what they were inevitably going to suffer anyway, and hell, with his influence at least there was a time where they might’ve stood a chance of going totally against Madara/Obito’s path, especially while Yahiko was still around. Jiraiya didn’t know that the whole thing with the Ame orphans was, by a design out of his control, doomed to end horribly. So while he felt personally responsible not knowing this, and it’s taken as a given that he was... actually, was he, when there was a master manipulator at play? Was it wrong to want to give some kids a chance?

With regards to all those things I see people say he should have stayed and fixed, that he should have been there, he should have done x y z... Is it not the responsibility of everyone not satisfied with their lot to step up to the plate and make where they live better? Jiraiya wasn’t the only adult. Tsunade, and I absolutely love her, does seem overwhelmingly to be absolved of leaving Konoha because... ??? Kicker is that she too is related to Naruto, of course. 

So... was she not also needed for the very material ways she could’ve helped at numerous points? Was she not also placing her grief and lost love before everything else? Are some reasons inherently more ok than others to ditch? As Kakashi’s generation grew up, was it not also then up to them to decide whether they’d change the status quo? Were Minato’s own generation, presumably his own peer group, not complicit in Naruto’s ostracisation? We got a slight taste of rebellion with Asuma, Hiruzen’s own son, but the fact is many Konoha-nin were overwhelmingly complacent with how things were. And yet never get demonised at all for it. Because it’s Jiraiya’s fault for... not staying and giving it all up to be a guardian who could well be depressed and unfit to raise a child... or just being a flaky as hell one that’s never there anyway because he has shit to do? (and in doing the former would let too many things go unchecked by a completely tuned-out Hokage, not gathering all that spicy useful intel, y’know... essentially he wouldn’t have ended up largely doing his job along with the personal shit in between).

Basically when I see claims saying that Jiraiya as an individual should have done pretty much everything better, and somehow been there for everyone that needed him at any given time, and that (mostly Naruto’s) suffering was a failing on Just His part because of his selfish whims... I feel like the point of his tragedy is absolutely missed. That tragedy being that barrelling through things alone is definitely a failing and harmful in numerous ways, as we see with Itachi shouldering everything alone too, and we see them both miss out on Naruto and Sasuke as a result... but at the same time, is just settling down and leaving everything else to chance not also a huge failing, when there are so many other circumstances and enemies acting against you, when you do have the power to change tides, and when so many other people refuse to or can’t seize their own agency? Jiraiya does put his faith in a lot of people too, and a lot of people fail. Don’t fail him, but in a general sense many, like Minato, fail to make the change they wanted to. That’s life in this world, it’s tragic, and after losing a lot of loved ones yeah, he retreats and goes at it alone. 

But how can he win? How does he do what’s right, other than by chasing what he thinks he can do to actually help the world, which happens to be bigger and not centred on individuals, even those he cares about?

(and remember, nobody knows Naruto is special-reincarnation-prophecy-boi, which is why I tend not to blame-game any characters for him being treated like so many orphans were because... while it’s not morally right or nice at all, it’s tone deaf to how the world is, to the fact all characters having different degrees of knowledge and priorities, and it’s insensitive of the fact most the characters had their own struggles and were just doing their best with a bad lot gdi). 

Hell though, Jiraiya even does put Oro, his big obsessive wild goose chase that whisks him away into selfish pining hopelessly devoted land, on the back burner at points. Maybe not in a lasting way, particularly by the last databook where he’s inspired anew by Naruto, but he does prioritise other shit on numerous occasions. And there’s a lot of shit to try and prioritise.

What I’m trying to say is, Jiraiya can’t solely be held responsible for people. Sure, he’s a character whose decisions were pivotal to events, but what of every other character in the story? Why are they not held to the same crazy high standard of doing and protecting and preventing and somehow doing everything ‘right’ that would have also meant him fitting neatly into the Konoha mould? Would other characters really have been that much better in the position of The Big Guide/Martyr/Tragic Hero/Force For Change character? And also is having a tragic Chaotic Good bastard of a hero not a sign of a damn good and interesting character, that at the very least tried where so many others didn’t? Would Naruto not have been a boring as hell story, whose main protag didn’t really have much conflict to make him compelling, without Jiraiya (among others) being a mess with the best intentions? Without so many other characters having failed him, for him to overcome it and still be able to love and inspire change (albeit through sometimes-clumsy talk-no-jutsu)? Was I missing the point of the story?

............. Hmm!

No longer sure where else I’m going with this now, so.... here, I guess, ends my ode to why character hate (especially that reduces them to One Thing) is dumb, why demonising truly well-meaning characters doesn’t feel particularly woke to me in a cast full of flawed characters and horrible circumstance, and why I’ll defend this poor bastard with far too damn much hinging on him to the end I guess :’)

TL;DR HE’S A DUMBASS AND HE TRIED, OKAY?!

[avengersassemble-fics]

Lost and Found

part 05/10 “a weapon”

masterlist

previous part

word count 5k LMAOOO

an: jesus lmao im so sorry this is up late today, i almost had it done last night but wasn’t feeling too hot so i went to bed. but this.. oo man i love this part. we get to meet a new sith character, anakin comes clean about something, and things get..well..haha you’ll see :)

spotify playlist to listen to while you’re reading!

Anakin looked at his Master with a worried look, and Obi-Wan didn’t quite know what to say to him at that moment. His arm was still raised as your voice cut out, and something twisted in his stomach. He looked to the Ivey cave entrance you had disappeared into and tried calling your name through the comm. But there was no answer.

“I’m going in,” he told Obi-Wan. He lowered his arm and Obi-Wan took a step towards him.

“Anakin you know we can’t interfere in this matter—“

“If there’s a Sith in there she could be hurt, or worse killed,” he said back quickly. He looked at him on his side and Obi-Wan pursed his lips.

“I’ll have Rex call for backup,” he stated, and Anakin looked back to the cave, “but the Chancellor will have to be notified of this. And of her.”

Anakin looked down to his feet for a moment, and then back to his Master, and offered a shrug, “The Council couldn’t hide her forever.”

The comm on your wrist glowed green, but you chose to ignore it as you stared at the man across from you. He watched your fingers wiggle at your side, and looked back up to meet your gaze.

“What’s your name?” He asked you simply. You looked him up and down, the breaths you both released letting out noticeable vapor. You could indulge him a bit, and maybe try to get some answers of your own.

“My name is (Y/N),” you paused when he nodded, “and you are?”

“I go by Dash,” he answered smuggly, his overconfidence oozed off him and made your skin crawl more than the cold did, “my Master gifted me this name.”

“Gifted,” you chuckled a bit to yourself, “that’s some gift then.”

His smirk fell and eyebrows narrowed a bit at you. What he gave off now was irritance, but that was good for you. You could easily push his buttons.

“Are you a Jedi?” he asked. He spoke perfectly, a slight accent you couldn’t place, and you nodded at him.

“Are you a Sith?” you questioned back.

He smiled wickedly at you, glancing at the lightsaber on your hip, “Beautiful craftsmanship.”

“Thanks,” you replied, “works as good as it looks.”

“I have no doubt of that,” he said, and began to walk back and forth slowly, “I know that the only Jedi who come here are simply Padawans,” he looked at you, “but you’re too old to be a Padawan and too. . . simple to be a Jedi Master.”

You shrugged, “And you feel too weak to actually think you’re Count Dooku’s, padawan,” you paused, “but I guess the apple doesn’t fall from the tree.”

“Count Dooku is more powerful than your Jedi will ever be,” he spat at you, “the real weak ones are those who don’t see the truth. The Dark Side is the only answer.”

“I’m not here to argue with you whether you think you’re right or not,” you replied. He stopped in his tracks, and moved his long robe behind him.

“Then what are you here for?”

You nodded behind him, “I can’t let you leave with those kyber crystals.”

He chuckled, “Let me? I wasn’t asking for permission.”

“See, that’s the problem with some of you Sith,” your fingers grazed the hilt of your lightsaber, “you take things that don’t belong to you just because you think you can.”

You could see anger rise in his chest as he took a power stance against you, and he grinned, “You have no idea what we are capable of,” his hand gripped his lightsaber and pulled it from his hip, “the weapon we are creating will devastate your Order. And the Republic with it.”

“So that’s why you’re here,” you straightened, “you’re building a weapon with the kyber crystals.”

“What--”

You smiled, “Thank you for that.”

Before he could reply you extended your arms, force shoving him backwards. He landed several feet from where he stood and slid against the ice. You turned your back to him and bolted to the gap you crossed, and jumped across it. His yell echoed around the ice, vibrating under your feet as you ran back the way you came. As you lifted your wrist back up, the comm started to play from the other end.

“(Y/N), come in! Now!” Anakin’s voice rang.

“I’m here,” you breathed and rounded a corner.

“I’m closing in on your location, just hold on,” his voice said again.

Suddenly, the ice beneath you caved in and you yelped. The new hole under your feet had opened up to an icey tube, which you fell down in a rush. You turned a corner one way and then another before the tube flattened out into an open cave. You spun and slid across the surface for a moment until your back collided into a solid icey rock, which knocked the wind out of you. You sat there for a moment to collect yourself, but the impact made your head feel fuzzy. The image of someone sliding down the same iced tube was all you could focus on.

Just as you were going to call out Anakin’s name, your lightsaber flew from your hip. You blinked, trying to clear your vision and saw Dash instead, holding your lightsaber in his hand. He chuckled and you pushed yourself off the ground, one foot in front of the other as you blinked him into focus.

“Pathetic,” he smiled, looking over your hilt, “but this will be a trophy of my first Jedi kill.”

You flexed your hand out, palm open and your lightsaber flew from his grip and back into yours. He glared at you and ignited his weapon, a red beam igniting the area. Before you could ignite yours, a figure dropped in front of you, which made Dash freeze. You faced Anakin’s back, but the surprise from Dash’s body made you grin.

“Anakin Skywalker,” he voiced, turning his lightsaber behind him, “I should’ve known this scum was with you.”

You moved to Anakin’s side, and he glanced at you for a moment. There were no noticeable wounds on you and he looked back to the Sith in front of him, and waved his hand.

“Why don’t we make this easy for the both of us? Surrender now, and you won’t get hurt,” Anakin offered. You looked at him and his eyes darted to you for a moment, and you smiled and shook your head.

“You’re not as funny as you think, Skywalker,” Dash replied. Anakin shrugged and pulled his lightsaber from his hip.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said and ignited his own blue lightsaber. Just as you were about to do the same, he extended his free arm before you, and moved you behind him. Before you could protest, Dash charged forward towards you both, and Anakin rushed to meet him halfway.

Dash attacked first, swinging his red saber towards Anakin, who dodged and blocked each of his swings. Their lightsabers clashed together, Dash pressed into Anakin, and Anakin pushed him backwards a step, before their lightsabers disconnected. Suddenly, Dash leapt into the air, behind you both, his lightsaber coming down to lunge into Anakin, but it got caught by something else. Anakin spun around and was faced opposite you now, your lightsaber clashed against the red.

The white saber made him hesitate, but your focused eyes were trained on Dash. You took a couple steps forward, and forced him to back towards the open cave. Anakin looked past the fight and saw droids coming from where he guessed they were extracting the crystals. Dash was forced to back up a few steps, closer to where the droids were lining up, and he shoved his lightsaber harder into yours, which sent you back towards Anakin.

Dash grinned at you two, and turned to run towards the ships. You ended up beside Anakin again, and he looked from the incoming number of droids to you.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“I’m fine,” you nodded to the droids, “what do we do about these guys?”

“We fight,” he answered, twirling his lightsaber and gripping it in his hand while his other lifted his comm link to his face, “are you planning on joining us anytime soon, Master?”

“I’m working on it,” his voice said back. You gripped your lightsaber in your hand as the droids moved in closer, and they began to fire their blasters. Both of your stances changes as you deflected blast after blast that came your way. Some of the ones you reflected back managed to knock a few droids down, but by your estimate there were still 3 dozen left.

“This wasn’t how I imagined this mission going,” you called out over the blaster fire. The line of droids neared Anakin and you, and he glanced your way.

“How did you imagine this going?” He asked.

“Well,” you paused as one blaster fire ricocheted off your lightsaber and into the droid nearest you, “you know. Casual walk through this ice cave, maybe face some kind of obstacle like my fears or something. I guess what they say about you two is right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anakin called out.

Before you could answer, the droids had closed in enough that Anakin moved to start attacking them. You mirrored his movements and began to slash through the hunks of metal easily. One dozen down, then two. Only a few were left standing as you both worked your way through the crows of droids, until the roar of the Separatists freighters shook the ground. You swayed a bit and lost your balance for a moment. You didn’t hear the droid come up behind you, and when you turned too late to look at Anakin the droid disintegrated in front of your eyes. Behind it was Master Kenobi, and Anakin rushed over to you two.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Master,” Anakin joked, the group of three turning their lightsabers off.

“I figured you could handle a squadron of droids on your own,” Obi-Wan replied, then averted his attention to the large freighters pulling off from the ground. This cave had opened up to the sky, and the two freighters looked to be slowed by the weight they carried.

“What do we do?” You asked, and looked to Obi-Wan. Anakin did the same, and his Master sighed.

“Unfortunately, there isn’t nothing we can do,” he looked back to the freighters, “we must report back to the Council.”

Obi-Wan began to walk away, and Anakin looked at you. Your eyes followed Obi-Wan before you looked back to Anakin, who offered you a sad smile, and placed a hand on your shoulder briefly. He began to walk away too, but you didn’t move. You squeezed your fist a bit as you debated your next action.

“I’m sorry Master Kenobi,” you suddenly said. Obi-Wan and Anakin both turned to look at you, but your back still faced them.

“Sorry for what, exactly?” Obi-Wan asked. You shifted your feet to look at them, and shrugged your shoulders lightly.

“For the fact I’m about to disobey your orders,” you replied, and turned back to the freighters. Before Obi-Wan could question you further you ran off. Right towards the freighters. Anakin grinned as his Master tried to find his words. Your feet pushed against the snow covered ice until you were closer to the other side where the freighters once were. You squinted into the sky and slowed your breaths before extending your hand forward and closing your eyes.

The sound of metal filled the air, and the two Jedi looked into the sky. One of the freighters looked to be pulled back, and Anakin could see the engines struggled to pull forward. He smiled to himself.

“What is she doing?!” Obi-Wan asked feverishly. Anakin looked at his Master and jogged backwards.

“The right thing!” He called. Anakin turned and sped off behind you. He occasionally glanced up at the freighter that hadn’t really moved since he heard that metal sound. He slowed his steps as he got closer and extended his arm forward and focused on the large freighter. His power with yours started to pull the freighter back towards the ground, and Anakin ended up right by your side, and your eyes fluttered open to glance at him. He offered a smile at you, and you chuckled a bit before looking back to the freighter.

The Force between the two of you felt like it twirled together and worked to pull the freighter back. The more you concentrated the more you felt Anakin’s pull. It was like your two connections danced together, but his felt more controlling. The freighter wasn’t moving much more back to the ground then before, not until someone else stood by your side. Anakin and you glanced to your left side at Obi-Wan, who was also focused on the freighter.

“Don’t lose your focus,” he said. Anakin held back a laugh while you smiled. Now, with the three of you, the Force you used was stronger. The freighter let out a cry from the pressure, coming backward towards them. The three staggered backwards and continued that struggle until the engines had had enough. Smoke began to come from it, and it began to fall on its own. As it crashed against the ground, the three of you held your arms up to block the shock wave of wind it sent towards you.

When the smoke cleared, and a Republic ship arrived at Illum, they were able to recover a large amount of kyber crystals. Unfortunate for the three of you, you had the Council to answer to back on Coruscant. As you stood in the Council chambers, Anakin by your side and Obi-Wan on his other, you listened to several Masters argue back and forth.

“What do they need kyber crystals for?”

“Now that the Chancellor is aware of her-“

“What are the Separatists planning?”

While they were talking over one another, you shifted your weight from one foot to the next, and glanced sideways at Anakin. He did the same, and lightly shrugged his shoulders. He just wanted you to relax.

“Calm, we must be,” Master Yoda finally said. The Jedi in the room were silenced almost immediately, and relaxed into their chairs. He looked at Anakin and you and motioned his hand around.

“If true this news is, we must inform the Chancellor,” he said, and stood from his seat. The cane he used he placed in front of him, and nodded, “speak with him I will. For now, rest you must get.”

The three of you nodded, but he wasn’t done speaking.

“Master Kenobi, if you can join me, hm?” He asked. Anakin and you glanced at Obi-Wan but he nodded in agreement. With one final bow, the two of you left the chambers, and you released the tension you held in your shoulders. Anakin watched on, and placed a hand on your arm.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

You nodded, though that fuzzy feeling entered your head once more, “I’m fine, think I hit my head after the ice caved it, but nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t know,” he said, glancing over your frame, “maybe we should get you checked out. Y’know, just in case.”

“Ani, I’m fine,” you tried to reassure him.

A mild concussion. When Anakin was able to drag you down to medical, and the droid said that out loud you fared at the object. Anakin though, was thrilled he was right, and had a smug look on his face, while you just sat there and glared.

“So what does that mean?” He asked, laughter evident in his voice and it took all of the strength in you not to smack his arm.

“The patient just needs to rest for now, any exertion or stressful interactions should be avoided for the next 24 hours at most,” it said, and you grumbled a bit.

“We can make sure she avoids exertion,” Anakin said and nodded his thanks. He helped you off the table and you mumbled a thank you as well. But as soon as you both exited the medical bay he laughed.

“Anakin, you are the definition of stressful interactions,” you said, which only made him chuckle more.

“You just hate to be proven wrong,” he smiled.

“That’s not what we’re talking about here.”

Anakin’s smile made your heart ache. The way his eye twinkled when he laughed, that happiness that radiated off of him made you smile too. He was also the walking definition of attraction, and being in his presence just made you happy.

Of course, that happy grin of his seemed to disappear as he looked behind you. As you noticed, you turned around to see the same Senator from before. You looked back at Anakin who had gone almost completely stone faced, and raised a brow at him.

“Anakin?” You asked. His eyes averted from the incoming woman and looked down at you.

“What?” He asked. His voice was deeper and sharper. You frowned at him.

“What’s going on?” You asked.

“Nothing,” he cut you off, before the woman was near, “Senator Amidala.”

“Padawan Skywalker,” she greeted with a soft smile on her face. You looked back at Anakin, who tried to show no emotion. But you saw through it. He was nervous.

“I just heard about what happened on Illum,” she said sweetly, and glanced at you for a moment, “the Chancellor has asked me to check in on you and Master Kenobi and,” she paused when her eyes landed on you, “I’m sorry I don’t know your name. Padawan..?”

“(Y/N),” you answered, “just (Y/N).”

“Pleasure to meet you,” she smiled. You nodded.

“Pleasure’s mine, Senator.”

She looked back at Anakin, “Do you have a moment?”

Before he could answer, you cleared your throat, “Yes he does. I was just returning to my quarters,” you glanced at Anakin who looked to clench his jaw but you nodded again at the Senator, “it was nice to meet you.”

You couldn’t get out of there fast enough. That tension you felt from the both of them made you uncomfortable. You just had an inkling that something was going on. The way she looked at him reminded you of, well, that way you looked at him. As you returned to your apartment, or quarters, you felt light in your head. What it meant you weren’t sure but the tears that stung your eyes were of something you couldn’t admit to yourself.

As you stripped from your clothing and went to the refresher, you stayed in it as long as you could. The hot steam washed away that days icey touch and the goosebumps on your body. You don’t know how long you were in there but when the temperature started to drop you turned it off and stepped out. The steam in the room covered the mirror, but the towel you grabbed you easily wiped it off before wrapping yourself up in the fabric.

The things that had filled your mind were that of jealousy, sadness, and resentment. As much as you tried to clear your mind it wasn’t working. Instead, through the steam that was rebuilding on the mirror you looked at yourself. You pondered the thought of what Anakin thought when he looked at you. Sometimes you could’ve sworn he looked at you like when he saw you for the first time on that Republic carrier. It made your cheeks hot to think of when he had seen you just awhile ago in this very situation.

But you cleared those thoughts from your mind. Just thinking of it made you feel uncertain. You carefully stepped into the bedroom and glanced into the open living area. Part of you hoped Anakin was there, but then seeing he wasn’t made the other part relax. You grabbed a soft silky sleeping gown and removed the towel from your body, and let that silky texture cover you. It didn’t take you long before you hung your towel back in the bathroom, and your arm began to shake. Maybe today really had taken its toll.

You pulled the blankets on the bed back and slid under them, resting on your back as you tried to relax. Your heart beat hard in your chest, enough to where you could feel it in your ears. You closed your eyes and tried to welcome the darkness of sleep. It wasn’t long before you heard the light beeping at the door.

Your eyes opened slowly as you forced yourself back up to your feet. Carefully you walked to the front door and paused before it. You didn’t need to open it to know who stood behind it. Your hand hovered over the control panel for a moment before it fell on top of it and the door whisked open. Your arms stayed on the wall, and you looked up at the face on the other side.

Anakin stood there and looked at you with kind eyes. You couldn’t help but smile softly at him, even in the darkness. You took a step aside and he came in.

“You didn’t have to rush off,” he said carefully.

You removed your hand from the panel and the door closed and locked behind him. You looked at him and shrugged.

“Honestly, Anakin. . . When she’s around something shifts in your behavior.”

He sighed, “I know.”

You crossed your arms, the space between you two was a comfortable amount, by the pressure in the room wasn’t, “So. . . What is it?”

“We uh,” he rubbed his face, “we used to be together, Padme and I. The Senator, I mean. But, not. . . Anymore.”

You nodded, that heavy feeling lifted off your shoulders, “I see.”

He shook his head, “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that, I know it isn’t the Jedi way.”

“Well,” you looked at him and smiled a bit, “I’m not a Jedi, remember.”

He chuckled a bit but it felt forced, you took a few steps over to him and grabbed his hands in yours, “Ani, I understand. If you’re worried I’ll tell anyone, I won’t.”

He looked down at you, and in the darkness his blue eyes looked deeper. His fingers threaded with your just a little bit before he pulled them away gently.

“Thank you, I-I’m sorry if I woke you,” he said quickly, moving to the side like he was going to leave.

“You didn’t,” you said rather fast, which made him stop in his tracks, “can you. . . Stay actually? I’m not feeling that great.”

He slowly nodded and you extended your hand out to him. He looked from your face to your hand before taking it in his. You led him towards the bedroom, before releasing his hand and moved to the side of the bed you originally laid on. He hesitated, but only because you glanced back at him. He had removed his robe and held it when your eyes met his, and you giggled softly.

“Sorry,” you mumbled and turned your back to him to face the window over the bed.

Anakin smiled to himself and folded his robe neatly to place on the chair in the room. While he undressed, his eyes didn’t leave you. He looked over your back, from your shoulders down past your soft folds and over your arms. You were breathtaking in the moonlight. He removed his boots and placed them gently on the floor in a soft thud, his belt was next and he placed it next to his robe, and then finally came his shirt. He pulled it over his head and folded it neatly on top of his robe. But, he glanced down at his gloves, and then back at your back.

“Ani, can I turn around now?” You asked him.

He kept them on, and cleared his throat, placing his hands behind him. You took that as a yes and turned around. You glanced at him for a moment before you got into the bed and under the covers, but sat up and stared at him.

He was broad and toned, even you could see that in the darkness. But the way he stood made you raise a brow at him, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said and walked to the opposite side of the bed. He hid his arms from you, but when he pulled back the covers you noticed the gloves still covering him. One went up his forearm, and the other stopped at his wrist. He carefully placed him a fair distance from you and put his arms in his lap. You looked from his hands to his face.

“Anakin,” you carefully said, and he just said a light mhm, “why are you still wearing your gloves?”

He was silent for a moment, and his head fell slightly. You frowned, inching a bit closer to him.

“I’m. . . Ashamed.” He answered. You shook your head.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to see me like this,” he said. You watched him speak and the hesitation that lingered in his voice. You looked at his hands once more, and carefully pushed yourself up on your knees to face him. His head whipped to you as you moved, but he froze when you grabbed his hand, the one barely covered. Your fingers worked on removing the black cloth, and his hand was exposed to you, but that wasn’t the one that worried him. When you slowly grabbed his other arm, his free hand suddenly grabbed your wrist. You froze and met his gaze. But his grip was loose and welcoming, and you carefully began to peel the glove from this arm.

The metal that met your sight made you slowly near his automatic fingers, but you placed the gloves to the side either way. Your fingers ghosted over the metal palm, and you shook your head.

“How did it happen?” You asked quietly. Anakin was taken back by the way you graciously and softly handled his metal arm. You hovered over him in a way that made his mind feel cloudy.

“I thought I was stronger than I was,” he paused as you nodded, “I was foolish.”

You looked up and met his eyes after he finished, and smiled sadly at him. You carefully grabbed both hands in your and held them close to your lap.

“Can I show you something?” You asked him.

“Of course,” he whispered. The distance between you two had closed significantly, but you released his hands and turned from him, still resting on your legs. He whatcha as your back faced him and your arm snaked out of your dress. He sat up straighter, seeing the fabric fall to your hips as your hands went to cover your breasts with the blanket on the other side.

You looked over your shoulder at him, and Anakin edged closer to you. Your back was illuminated by the moonlight, and the image before him made his stomach drop. Cuts and lashes covered your back, leaving scars scattered across your perfect skin. He didn’t realize it as he used his hands to trace over the little and bigger marks over your back, but the way your skin tingled under his touch made something in his core harden. He was close enough to where his breath hit the nape of your neck, and shot goosebumps down your arms.

“These scars tell a story about us,” you whispered, turning your head slightly, Anakin’s face was near yours, hovering just above your shoulder, “it’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

His lips were close enough to kiss. The way his hands trailed over your back made your thighs press together under the dress. The look in his eyes made you want to just drop the blanket and turn to him right there. Right now. But you looked down for a moment, and Anakin let his eyes wander over you in secret. Your dress laid at your hips and he could see your chest lift and fall with your breathing. All that stood between him was your hands, and he could quickly pin those above you.

You moved first and shifted yourself slightly to alleviate the throb between your legs, and Anakin moved back a bit to grasp the sleeves of your dress in his hands. You let him pull the dress up, his fingers gilded over the sides of your body and made you shiver. Anakin grinned a bit to himself as you carefully pushed your arms through the dress. Now fully covered you moved so that you faced him. Anakin was inches from you, his hand still ghosted over your arm closest to him. Your eyes locked for a moment, and it was enough for him to retract himself from you.

“We should rest,” he said quietly, and you watched as he laid down on his back, just flat against the bed. Silently, you laid down as well, and curled onto your side away from him.

“Goodnight, Anakin,” you whispered.

It didn’t take you long to fall asleep, but Anakin stayed wide awake. He laid there with one arm under his head and one by his side. Beside him you slept and he listened to you breathe evenly. His mind raced at the thought of what happened just earlier, the feeling he wanted to act on. He didn’t know what it meant, and he knew he couldn’t act on it--

You shifted next to him and his thoughts froze. He watched as you rolled over to him, past his arm, and into his side. He had to lift his arm before you impacted and he held it there for a moment as he tried to gauge what to do. But it was instinct. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer, and that’s when he finally fell asleep. He was at peace.

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@robin-obsessed @runs-with-sciss0rs 

[jetsetlife138]

Idk if you’re still accepting prompts but can you do 79 with Alastor x fem!reader?

#79 - “Fuck me like you hate me.” Pairing: Alastor x fem!ReaderWarning: VERY explicit and rough smut

He’d gone too far this time. Alastor thoroughly enjoyed pushing your buttons, and most days you could handle it, but not today.

“I’m done, Alastor. I’m so over your bullshit. You’re egotistical, selfish, and just… I hate you. I really, truly do. Just stay the hell away from me.” 

It’s not that everything you were saying wasn’t true, and if you were being honest, calling attention to his shitty behavior was long overdue for the arrogant demon. So… why did you have an almost overwhelming sense of guilt as soon as the words left your mouth? 

The Radio Demon peeled his lips back into a sinister smile, revealing his frighteningly jagged teeth.”My dear girl, are you truly that foolish? It is you who repeatedly seeks me out. It’s you that comes crawling back to me for companionship when you’ve seemed to abandon all hope. I am the company you seek when you lie awake at night, lonely and desperate for affection.” 

You refused to budge as he moved closer, his face now only inches away from your own as his hot breath brushed over your face, his scent equally revolting and intoxicating. “There’s no harm in admitting what you already know, dearest. You cannot resist me, and you would love nothing more than to be filled by me over and over again like the hungry cock slut that you are.” 

SLAP

The sound of your hand coming into contact with his face echoed throughout the room, leaving behind a haunting silence in its wake. His face had turned away from you due to the impact of your assault, and his mouth hung open in shock. All you could do was gawk at him, utterly speechless and unable to fully comprehend what you had just done. 

The both of you remained still for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than a few seconds. Finally, he looked toward you again, a coldness in his eyes that you had never felt before, turning your blood to ice. His lip curled, and it was only when he smiled once more that you had realized the gravity of your mistake. 

“So, that’s how this is going to go, hmm?” he purred dangerously, tilting his head far enough to crack the bones in his neck. His demeanor was eerily calm, but you could still feel the intensity  beneath the surface, his rage threatening to emerge at any given time. The fact that his reaction was cool and calculated had frightened you more than if he would have exploded with anger instead. 

Swallowing thickly, your immediate reaction was to take a step back to create some distance between you and the unpredictable demon. However, with every cautious step you took away from him, he countered by taking an enormous stride forward. Why the fuck did he have to be so tall with such long ass legs?!

Eventually, you had reached the wall, no longer able to distance yourself. “A-Alastor… I didn’t… I--” 

Before you could finish the rest of your sentence, he was on top of you, twisting you around to face away from him and pinning you up against the wall. You tried to wriggle free, but his hold on you was far too strong as he kept you in place with his body pressed against your back. 

Your froze when you felt him bend slightly to run his claws up your inner thigh towards your core. When his fingers danced over your heat, your breath hitched and you fought the urge to buck into his hand. 

His black and red strands of hair swept across your cheek as he leaned forward to whisper huskily into your ear, “Tell me again how much you detest me,” he demanded as his slender digits continued to tease you over your damp heat. It took all you had to resist grinding against his fingers. 

“I’m pretty sure the word I used was ‘hate’, but whatever,” you barked, seething with irritation and sexual frustration. “Either way, I really fucking do.”

His hand found his way into your hair as he yanked your head back, pressing his lips hungrily against yours in a deep kiss. Overcome with lust, you reached your arm back to bring him even closer, opening your mouth to welcome his tongue as he wasted no time in kneading it against your own. Absentmindedly, your thighs began to part wider to allow the skilled demon more access to your throbbing cunt, already dripping from his actions. You really hated how easily he brought you to this state. 

When he began to press his palm into you to add more pressure to your aching clit, a needy whine escaped your throat, which he swallowed down with his mouth as he continued to kiss you, chuckling at your obvious need for him. 

Breaking the kiss, he flipped you back around so that you were facing him once more before he pressed his forehead against yours. His hot breath swept over your face as he panted against you, moving to finally brush the fabric of your panties aside to allow him full access. He wasted no time slipping a finger inside of you, crooking his digit into a ‘come hither’ motion, hitting your g-spot over and over again. 

Clutching the front of his suit in your hands, you rolled your hips against him, eager for more. He relished in your response to his touch, smirking arrogantly. “For someone who hates me as much as you supposedly do, you’re awfully wet, my dear.” 

“That doesn’t mean a-anything,” you bit back, trying to maintain your composure as he increased his speed, pumping in and out of you with vigor. “Just because you’re an entitled, n-narcissistic, self-absorbed piece of shit--oh god--doesn’t mean that you’re not also a--mnph-- somewhat decent fuck.” 

He snarled at you, shoving a second finger without warning and thrusting into you with such force, you thought that he was going to break you. “I must say, it’s unbecoming to so easily succumb to the advances of someone supposedly as entitled and self-absorbed as I am. One might say that it’s actually quite pathetic, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Fuck you, Alastor.” 

He laughed darkly, choking on his own breath shortly after when you moved your hands down his slender form and onto the obvious tent in his pants, palming at it eagerly while he rolled his hips against you. 

“And you say I’m pathetic?” you mocked, smirking at his reaction to your touch. 

He responded by shoving his fingers so forcefully deep inside of you that you could have sworn you had been lifted from the ground. You cried out in both pleasure and pain, knowing full well that you weren’t going to be able to walk right for the next few days. 

Using his other hand, he made quick work of his trousers, eagerly pulling out his weeping cock. Unable to stop yourself, you reached forward, sliding up his shaft with your hand and thumbing at his slit, spreading the precum around the head. He moaned at the sensation, his jaw unhinging as he shut his eyes, his body trembling with anticipation. 

“I’m going to ruin you,” he promised breathlessly before sliding his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth to suck his digits clean. You whined at the sight, earning another wave of arousal to leak out of your cunt. He then reached back down to hook his fingers around your panties before yanking so hard that they ripped right off of your body, causing you to jolt forward into him as he tossed them aside, an arrogant smirk plastered on his face. 

“Doubt it,” you retorted offhandedly. “You’re not as good as you think are, Al. Last time you fucked me I nearly fell asleep from boredom. I thought demons were supposed to be strong and fearsome. You’re a goddamned softie. You’re weak - a fucking doormat. ‘All-powerful’? What a fucking joke.” 

It was an obvious lie. Not only had you previously seen the barbaric carnage and slaughter of his enemies first-hand, but there had also been plenty of times before where he had fucked you so brutally that your entire body was littered with multiple dark bruises, leaving behind a soreness that lasted for several days. Regardless, you were pissed off and you were doing all that you could to deflate his ego, consequences be damned. 

The look in his eyes instantly made you regret your words. Grinning sinisterly from ear to ear, he reached up to grab your throat, completely cutting off your airway as he used his other hand to line himself up against your heat before snapping his hips forward and filling you completely. 

Your immediate response was to gasp, but he held onto your throat too tightly, quickly withdrawing and shoving himself back in again and again, setting a brutal pace. 

Tears filled your eyes as you silently begged him for some lenience, which he finally granted you, releasing his hold on your throat after a few more thrusts. You sucked in the air greedily as he continued to rail you against the wall, nearly lifting you from the ground with the harshness of his momentum.

“O-oh, shit,” you choked out, 

“Is this what you wanted? Or am I boring you yet again?” He emphasized his words with a particularly rough jab right into your core. 

You wanted to beg him to stop-- to slow down and not be so malicious, but there was no way in hell that you were going to relent and let him think that he won. 

“I h-hardly even feel anything. I-- oh god-- I’ve had better sex with-- huhg-- with myself. You’re n-nothing.” 

With all of the moaning and rutting you were doing, you would have been shocked if he had actually believed you. Given the way he was fucking you, it was a surprise that you could even form words at all. Regardless, Alastor enjoyed the challenge, and the both of you knew it. 

“Is that so?” He then gripped your leg tightly, lifting it up and curving it around to rest on his hip while he slammed himself even deeper inside of you, his cock hitting your cervix with each shove. Your nails raked his back, running along the smooth fabric of his red suit since he hadn’t even bothered to remove a single article of his own clothing. 

“How about now? Can you feel me now, you ungrateful harlot?You were slightly taken aback at how angry he sounded-- as if he was genuinely upset by your teasing. If you were being honest with yourself, it brought you a lot of smug satisfaction. 

You opened your mouth to give some witty retort, but with the way he was railing you, it was damn near impossible. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you finally relented, releasing a wail of pleasure as you struggled to breathe, each thrust knocking the breath out of your lungs. The only words that escaped you were, “Yes! Oh, god, yes! Just like that. Fuck me like you hate me.” If he wasn’t already dead, you would kill him. He was an alluring monster-- hauntingly beautiful and wicked all at once. You were drawn to him in ways that you could never comprehend, nor explain. The sad truth is that you were no more to him than a form of entertainment. He was an enigma, tempting you with his mystery and promises of wonder, but underneath it all was a sadistic and malevolent being, whose interest in you was limited and not at all sentimental. He made you feel weak-- helpless to his meaningless advances and you hated him for it. And yet… what angered you most of all was that you found yourself genuinely caring for him… and it would never be reciprocated in return. 

Luckily for you, there was a way to escape those nagging thoughts, and it was by being completely fucked out by the demon. The pain of his harsh movements mixed beautifully with the pleasure it brought, and you were overwhelmed by the ecstasy of it all. Crying out with wanton moans, your body shook uncontrollably as his suit rubbed up against your clit, causing an unbelievable friction as his cock brushed against the deepest parts of you. He noticed you rutting against him in a way to earn more clit stimulation, so he reached down and began massaging against you in small circles with the pads of his fingers. The action caused you to practically scream as you bent your head forward and bit harshly into his shoulder to muffle your loud noises, probably bruising his skin even through his jacket. 

“A-Alastor. I can’t… oh fuck, I-I’m--,” you couldn’t even finish the words before your body flooded with bliss, your climax hitting you so abruptly that your knees gave out and you nearly blacked out from the intensity. 

He continued to fuck you with abandon, chasing after his own release as you soon became over-sensitized, tears rolling down your face from the sensations. 

Resting his cheek against yours, you could distinctly hear the little pants and grunts escaping his throat. They were sounds of vulnerability that were reserved only for you in moments like these-- a genuine rarity. Alastor didn’t petition for sex often, and he especially didn’t partake in having multiple partners. You were honestly surprised that he wanted to fuck anyone ever considering he hardly showed interest in the activity, but when he immersed himself in it… fuck if you didn’t reap the benefits. Slapping the palms of his hands against the wall on both sides of you, his body shuddered as he released an especially loud groan, reaching his high. Heavy spurts of his demonic seed lined your cervix as he continued to convulse, his orgasm lasting longer than anyone you had ever been with. He had rested his head in the crook of your neck, seemingly forgetting about your fight for a moment before he pulled out of you, still breathless and smirking as he watched the remnants of his hot cum drip down your legs. “What a pitiful creature you are. I imagine it must make you feel utterly wretched getting off on the hatred you supposedly feel for me. I wonder if there is anyone else who can bring you to the brink of death and back like I can.” 

Fuck that goddamned arrogance. You fought so hard to put him in his place, and instead you got completely fucked-- both figuratively and literally. Your entire body had ached and would be sore for the next week. It made you wonder if the intense orgasms you got from him were even worth it. 

Your heated glare was met with an unforgiving sneer as he straightened out his jacket, which had been wrinkled during your interaction. “Let me be as clear as I can be,” he spoke candidly, though his eyes were filled with warning. “You belong to me.” 

Narrowing your eyes at him, you bent down to pick up the shredded remains of your panties before you stepped around him to leave. As you reached the door frame, you paused to turn and speak over your shoulder as nonchalantly as possible before walking out. 

“Keep telling yourself that.”

[cbraxs]

Warped [Time Warp Trio Fanfiction] - Chapter 12

A chill slithered through the warm night air. All color drained from Cleopatra’s face. The Pharaoh’s stony expression turned dour. He commanded Ahmose in a stern whisper, “Have soldiers out searching for her and guarding all entrances to the palace. We are going to handle this swiftly and silently. Alert no one.”

Ahmose bowed, and the two hurried away. Cleo stood still, fisting the fabric of her chiton, eyes tense in terror as she shook.

She exhaled and fixed stoic eyes on Izzy. “Priestess. Come with me.” And without another word, she left, not even looking behind to see if Izzy was following her or not.

What did she want with Izzy, Joe wondered. Maybe protection? But she didn’t know Izzy’s capabilities. Besides, Cleo had ancient Egyptian Dolph Lundgren as a personal bodyguard. Maybe she wanted company while getting some fresh air, but why not bring one of the girls? She’d known them longer.

Izzy stood, her gaze on Cleopatra’s retreating form. “I should go after her.”

“Is that really the safest idea?” Sam asked.

“It’s not like I can refuse an order. She outranks me.”

Sam pinched his nose in disbelief. “She’s… You’re not a real… you’ve been around Fred too long!”

Freddi pitched in, “I think she means is it’s better to go and not upset Cleopatra.”

“Go ahead,” Joe assured Izzy. “We’ll catch up with you two soon.”

Izzy nodded and jogged after Cleopatra. Once both girls disappeared into the crowd, Fred stood and brushed crumbs off his robes. “Well, this has been great, but it’s time for us to leave.”

“I’d love to, really,” Jodie said. “There’s just one thing. The Book is still broken!”

“You guys were the ones who insisted we stay despite The Book being out of order!” Sam said. “Now we’re stuck in the past with a crazed killer on the loose! Where’s that grape juice?”

Samantha snorted, but there was a twinge of nervousness. “Berenice wasn’t exactly Elizabeth Báthory.”

Joe stood. “We should trail them to be safe.”

The others agreed, and with that, they headed out to find Izzy and the princess.

~*~

Berenice was no fool.

She’d been quick to eliminate the obstacles in the way of her coveted position as ruler. She’d dealt with those who posed a threat to her throne Berenice had won this war and nothing was to get in the way of her luxurious station in life.

And yet… something had. That “something” being a Roman invasion, lead by her pestiferous father. In rapid succession, Berenice lost everything: her power, her throne, her affluence, her dignity. All but her life, which was due to be taken from her as well if not for the mysterious strange man escorting her through the night.

She trudged behind the man past the countryside. The glow of his cane lit a green path for them to follow. Her feet ached more than they ever had, her bones throbbed in the cold, and her throat burned from thirst. Despite this, Berenice hadn’t complained, not once, even though she had every right to. She’d learned quickly to not irritate the stranger.

He was… off. Off and choleric. The smallest thing could fly him into a fit of rage, going into diatribes about things she didn’t understand. It was clear that this man was mad, and Berenice wasn’t about to upset him. She didn’t know if she could trust him, but she understood he was powerful.

So she followed. Through clouds of dust, confusion, and mosquitos, she followed.

After what felt like hours, they settled in an empty hovel in the middle of nowhere. Not only was it devoid of residents, but of furnishing. Sand and beetles acted as their company.

“Sit,” the man commanded.

“On the dirt?” Berenice asked.

This innocent question did not please the man. He glared, and the glow on his cane flared, and he shot green lightning at her. She flinched and shut her eyes, expecting to be destroyed instantly, but no harm befell her.

“Is that better, you spoilt Ptolemaic wench?”

She opened her eyes and looked where the spot the man motioned towards. At the place where his magic struck, there was now a simple table with two chairs.

Berenice stared. She knew he had magic. Powerful magic. The kind she'd only ever heard about in stories and drunken retellings. That’s how he was able to bypass the soldiers guarding her and set her free. Still, it was incredible to behold.

The man stomped his foot like an impatient child. “Go ahead and sit! We don’t have all night.”

She did as she was told. He sat across from her, and stuck his cane into the ground, the unusual adornment acting as their candlelight.

The green glow illuminated every crease and frown line across his face. He had dark, unruly hair atop his head, above his mouth, and on his chin. A crystal disc hovered in front of one eye. His skin— and attitude— reminded her of the sands of Deshret: golden red and hostile.

Berenice fidgeted with the golden Wadjet amulet around her neck, the one thing those savages didn’t take from her. Perhaps they thought there was no need to take it when it would fall from her neck soon enough. Or maybe her father thought it would be funny to let her keep her jewelry while she was due for execution, a horrible reminder of what she’d lost in his victory.

After an eternity, the man spoke. “I bet you’re wondering why I freed you.”

“The question had crossed my mind,” Berenice admitted.

“You have something I want, and I possess the abilities to give you what you want.”

“You presume to know what I want?”

“Of course, you imbecile. You want the throne. Revenge. Complete impunity. Blah, blah, blah! I will destroy the Pharaoh and all others who stand in your way. And in return, I want your amulet, the Eye of Horus.”

“My amulet?” she asked. That’s all? “You could’ve taken it without struggle. Why go through the trouble of freeing me?”

“The Eye of Horus is a symbol of protection. For my purposes, it can’t be simply stolen, it must be given willfully.”

“But why my amulet? Surely you could get it elsewhere or even make your own—”

“My motives are none of your beeswax!” he said with a sniff. “Anyway, it won’t impact your mission.”

“My mission?”

“Of course! Do you expect to get your throne back with no work you lazy Prinzessin? No, I need for you to do this one thing for me.”

She nodded hesitantly. He was hiding something from her, that much was obvious. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the throne, and disposing of her bastard of a father. The thought of revenge was pure honey cake to her.

“In the palace, there is a group of kids with your sister, seven in total: three boys. four girls. I need you to capture a girl for me and bring her here.”

“Why can’t you—”

“Because I can’t! I didn’t free you from your pathetic fate to ask me idiotic questions. I freed you to kidnap a teenage girl for me!”

“All right! All right! My apologies. Which girl do you want me to bring to you?”

“The one with the silly pigtails.”

“Pigs’ tails? You need her to make you a healing potion?”

A beleaguered sigh from the man. “It’s her hair! Her name is Isadora. She has brown skin, brown hair, green eyes! Get the picture? Should I have prepared an elaborate trifold poster? Brought a projector to show you a PowerPoint presentation? Just bring me the girl.”

Another snap of his fingers and a cup full of clear liquid appeared.

“Hurry up and drink!” the man demanded. “You’re useless to me dehydrated. We need to iron out the details.”

Berenice sipped her water as he explained the plan. Once he finished, he snapped his fingers once more. In a flash of green, two wooden trinkets appeared in his hands: One shaped like a crocodile and the other shaped like a smaller version of the ornament on his cane.

“This,” he handed her the crocodile, “will help you out of any trouble you run into. And this,” he gave her the other item. “Will transport you back to me once you have the girl.”

Berenice looked over the items. They felt as real and smooth as they looked.

“You... truly have this power?” she asked, mostly to herself.

His creeping smile was as dry as the desert and his eyes just as unforgiving. “You haven’t the faintest idea.”

~*~

Izzy hadn’t seen her day going like this at all. She planned on seeing a movie and hanging out with friends. Maybe she’d even get a little risque and drain ten dollars at the crane game to win a cute plush she didn’t need.

Now she was pretending to be a priestess comforting a princess. Not just any run-of-the-mill princess, but Cleopatra. The Cleopatra. The beautiful, smart, charming last Pharaoh of Egypt.

Izzy’s parents would read her stories about Cleopatra, and she was as captivating as described. She had an aura of zeal around her that drew you to her and made her fascinating. She was genuinely excited to meet new people and show them the country she loved. Her energy was contagious and Izzy couldn’t help but feel what she felt.

And then there were her looks. There was a lot of speculation about whether or not Cleopatra was the drop-dead gorgeous beauty of legend, and Izzy always found that super boring. Cleopatra accomplished so much in her lifetime, it was annoying when people downgraded her to a mindless, evil sex-ductress.

Still, Izzy appreciated Cleopatra’s offbeat beauty. Her tall proud nose, which looked a bit like Joe’s, reminded her of a Greek statue. Her smile was always confident, her eyes sparkled, never wavering.

All this to say it was no wonder Izzy felt as nervous as she did as she silently followed the princess through echoing palace and looming pillars into a garden of flowers and trees.

The night buzzed with fireflies, the din of the party as soft as white noise. A light breeze rustled through the palm fronds and carried air that smelled faintly of flowers and smoke.

Cleopatra sat at a pond, her eyes cast down at the catfish darting about. Izzy followed suit, unsure of how to break the silence. She didn’t know if Cleopatra wanted to talk, but Izzy would be here if she decided to do so.

After a moment, Cleo said in a shaky voice, “I am… afraid, priestess. Irrationally, I admit, but I fear for my life. I fear for my father. If there’s a chance to regain her position, I know Berenice will jump at it. She is ruthless.”

“It’s okay to be afraid. Don’t be too hard on yourself for feeling your feelings.”

Cleopatra looked at her in… surprise? Confusion? Izzy didn’t know how to place her reaction, but she continued. “You have your father, his soldiers, and us. We won’t let anything bad happen to you. So don’t worry.”

A sigh from Cleo. “Thank you for the reassurance, priestess. I pray that my father’s men find her soon, and we can move forward with the execution.”

Izzy winced. “I know she’s awful and all, but she’s still your sister. Don’t you feel bad about… y’know?”

“My sister a threat,” Cleopatra said. “To allow a threat to linger is to allow your downfall.”

“But execution...” Izzy shook her head. “It just doesn’t feel right—”

“You clearly have no idea what Berenice is capable of!”

Izzy jumped at her sudden outburst, mouth agape, unable to respond. Not that Cleopatra gave her much of a chance to anyway.

“You have no idea what she’s done to her family, my family. To Egypt! Berenice is foolish and lazy and... selfish! She was a horrendous queen and cared nothing for the responsibility of ruling a nation.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes and threatened to spill down her reddening cheeks as she ranted. Her fist balled as if she was ready to clock the next person who questioned her.

“Egypt is weakened. We need allies. That is why I’ve been especially kind to your King Fred. After my father hands the crown over to me, I will have the weight of Egypt on my shoulders. I will have to undo all the centuries of damage that my ancestors caused neglecting my country. If Berenice must be executed to save my Egypt, then so be it!”

Cleopatra panted as she finished her speech. A shiver ran through her.

Izzy averted her eyes back to the pond. She hadn’t meant to upset her, but she couldn’t help but speak her mind.

She couldn’t blame Cleopatra for reacting this way. Berenice killed her own mother and had her husband murdered. If she were to overthrow the Pharaoh again, she’d no doubt have Cleopatra and her father killed. That’s a lot to put on any fourteen-year-old.

Izzy wasn’t ignorant of who Cleopatra would become. She did many amazing things during her rule, but there was also a lot of ugly stuff. Cleopatra would do to her siblings what Berenice did before her. It was easy to overlook that stuff when she was just a historical figure, a character in a book, a role in a film. But now, having gotten to know Cleopatra today, it was harder to reconcile the actions with the person.

Joe and Anna’s spat was so much easier to deal with compared to this. The Ptolemy dynasty was full of corruption and betrayal. They valued power over family. Cleopatra grew up seeing all this familial betrayal, so it’s normal to her. It was what she had to do. It was harsh and difficult, but necessary for her. Izzy didn’t agree, but this was above what she could handle.

Cleopatra sighed and wiped away tears. “My apologies, priestess. I should not have lost my temper at you like that—”

“Spiders and flies!”

Cleopatra looked at her liked she grew a third eye on her chin.

Oh. She should probably explain what the heck she was talking about so she didn’t look like a loon. “Spiders and flies. A spider’s life appears crazy to a fly. They stay in one spot instead of hunting for food, devouring every fly that falls into their web. But that’s just the spider’s way. It seems monstrous and disgusting, but that’s just the spider surviving.”

Cleo gave her a strange look, like the third eye had sprouted wings.

Izzy rubbed the back of her head. “What I mean is, we’re from different worlds. I can’t convince you to see things the way I do.”

The princess grimaced. “And you say this by likening me a spider, priestess? Perhaps you have confused me with Arachne instead of Aphrodite?”

“I-I— That’s now what I meant!” In hindsight, that wasn’t the most flattering comparison. Maybe she should have thought of cuter animals, like bunnies and foxes. No, wait… that’s way more gruesome...

But to Izzy’s shock, Cleopatra giggled. “You are most unusual, priestess. I appreciate you letting voice my discontent. I feel a bit better now.”

Her smile made Izzy’s cheeks warm. “T-to be honest I’m not sure I did much, but I’m glad you feel better.”

Cleo eyed Izzy with a curious look. “Are you perhaps the fly in this scenario? Buzzing around aimlessly until trapped in your demise by your own thoughtlessness?”

Izzy frowned and thought about it. “I… really really hope not.”

Cleopatra laughed again and Izzy couldn’t help but grin.

A rustling behind them made Izzy whirl around. Her friends stumbled upon the garden, frozen like statues that got caught moving. Izzy waved them over to join them at the pond. “How’d you guys find us so fast?”

“We weren’t stalking you!” Freddi squeaked in a way that made Izzy think they might have been stalking them.

Joe looked from Izzy to the laughing Cleopatra in confusion. “What did you do? Arrest Berenice yourself already?”

“Ah! My guest!” Cleo stood and clasped her hands. “My apologies for keeping you waiting. Let’s return to the party shall we?”

~*~

After the party wound down, the eight of them decided to retire back in the rooms. Cleopatra insisted on spending the night with them. The Pharaoh wasn’t too thrilled with this, but eventually, he gave in with the caveat that Ahmose and another soldier stand guard outside the rooms. As if Joe and the others planned on kidnapping her or something.

A small hallway separated the bedrooms by gender. Joe expected Izzy to be nervous to bunk with strangers, but she didn’t seem too bothered, which was a relief. In fact, she and Cleopatra were pretty attached to each other. Cleo hooked arms with Izzy and practically dragged her around everywhere, not that Izzy seemed to mind.

The boys’ room was more extravagant than their usual time warp related accommodations. A great window overlooked the dark glittering waters of the great bay, allowing the moon as well as candlelight to illuminate their sleeping quarters. A tray of plums, grapes, palm nuts, and figs, and a pitcher of water sat in the center of the room. Brightly painted geometric shapes and pictures of Greek heroes and gods decorated the walls. And good luck getting out of bed once you got in. The fluffy, chaise lounge chair like beds were heaven, especially compared to the jail cells and barns they were used to. Their beds were placed equal parts away against the walls with Joe’s bed the closest to the door.

Fred flopped on the bed. “These digs are awesome!”

“Yeah,” Sam said, “except for the murderer running around.”

“Would you relax, Royal Geek? Unless you’re gonna marry Cleopatra, you have no reason to worry.”

“No, but you might, Fred,” Joe teased.” Cleopatra’s real flirty with you.”

Despite Joe’s tone, Fred puffed up his chest. “What can I say? The Queen of the Nile has excellent taste.”

Sam laughed at that. Fred glared at him and asked what was so funny, which made Sam laugh harder.

“You might not have to worry, Fred,” Sam said. “Cleopatra looks more into Izzy now than you.”

Fred tossed a pillow at him, and all three of them laughed.

A knock on the door interrupted their laughter. Joe turned to see Jodie stood at the entrance, Book in hand. “May I come in?”

Fred rolled his eyes. “Why bother asking? You’re gonna come in anyway.”

Jodie waved away his comment. She marched in (pretty much proving Fred’s point) and sat at the foot of Joe’s bed.

Joe motioned towards The Book. “Any luck fixing it?”

Jodie shook her head as she flipped through the pages. “I’ve never had to fix a problem like this before. It’s happened plenty of times, but never while I owned it.”

She looked helplessly through the glitched, buggy pages. Joe couldn’t help but feel for her. To say Jodie was prideful would be an understatement. She prided herself on her appearance, her accomplishments, but most importantly she prided herself on her handling of The Book.

She’d gotten The Book at ten, the same age he did, but had been warping since she was little. At the age of five, she was appointed to Time Page by her uncle Sid, the uncle who passed The Book on to her. Her warp record wasn’t flawless but she’d never once lost The Book on a warp (excluding any Fred-based excursions). She was a stickler when it came to interfering with history, even more so than Sam. Joe knew how important time traveling was to her.

“Would it help if I tell you what happened?” Joe asked.

Her brows scrunched in thought but didn’t look at him. “Possibly.”

He explained what happened with Izzy in ancient Egypt. Joe told her it was an accident, which was true, but didn’t mention that they were trying to find her dad. He’d tell her eventually, once they were home, but for now, fixing The Book was priority number one. He didn’t want to distract Jodie with that can of worms.

When Joe got to the part when Mad Jack shot at The Book, Jodie’s jaw hit the floor. “He shot The Book?! I know he’s crazy but even he’s not crazy enough to do that.”

“I don’t think he did it on purpose. From how Izzy described it, she shielded herself instinctually.”

“Of course she would,” Jodie muttered. “Thanks for telling me, but I don’t think it’ll help us. Not unless you can shoot magic beams at it.”

He couldn’t, but not for lack of trying. He’d practiced shooting lasers from his fingers many times in his room just to see if he could. Of course, he wasn’t about to bring that up in front of Jodie. Or anyone for that matter.

“So what now?” Joe asked.

“It’s not an exact science, but whenever The Book gets damaged, similar damage usually does the trick. Remember when warrior king Fred oh so expertly stabbed The Book with a spear. Twice.”

“Saved your butt,” Fred piped in.

Jodie rolled her eyes but struggled to hide a small smile. “Anyway, in lieu of magical energy bolts, we’ll have to find another way.” She closed The Book and held it reverently in front of her. “I-I hope this works.”

She closed her eyes and inhaled. Her fingers glowed where they touched The Book. She muttered words under her breath over and over until The Book rumbled in her hands like a mini thunderstorm was going on between the pages. The glow died and Jodie flipped through the pages to find that it was… still jumbled. “Shoot!” Jodie slammed The Book shut. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

“What was that?” Joe asked.

“It’s hard to explain... but it’s sort of a soft reboot.”

Joe waited to see if she was kidding, but Jodie didn’t exactly inherit his sense of humor. “Riiiiight. I get it, but maybe you should explain, so Fred and Sam get it.”

Another roll of her eyes. “The Book is like an ancient supercomputer made by people who didn’t quite understand how to make a computer. It’s a patchwork of pieces and features added over time, which is why it’s powerful but volatile. Right now, it's like an iced computer with a single living aperture.”

“Come again?”

“I think she means,” Sam said, “that it’s like a frozen computer with a working window.”

“Oooooh.” It was times like this that reminded Joe that Jodie was from a future with wildly different technologies than his own time.

But what she said made sense. The Book did sort of function like a computer. It had search features and keyboards on some pages. He wondered if it's always worked like this or if adapted to their modern way of doing things. “So do we need to turn it off and on, or is it there some type of control, alt, delete ritual?”

“It's not as easy as pushing a switch.”

“Not how computers work—”

“However they work, this requires real magic. More than the two of us have.” Jodie’s lip curled, her golden-brown eyes narrowed in thought. “I hate to say it, but I think we need Isadora's help.”

Joe wanted to ask why she hated to say it, and what her deal was with Izzy anyway. But something she said didn’t sit right.

“How… how did you know Izzy could use magic?”

Jodie bit her lip. “I-I just assumed she was the one who taught you that annoying levitation trick. I mean, how else would you have learned that?”

“Oh. Right.” He almost forgot about showing off his new tricked. It made sense she’d assume Izzy taught him.

Jodie groaned. “I guess we have to go get her.”

There it was again, her annoyed attitude towards Izzy. “How come you don't like her?”

Jodie looked at him like he just spoke backwards. “Don’t like who?”

Was she for real? It was obvious who he was talking about. He fixed her with a look and she faltered under the glare. “It's not that I don't like her. It's just... I think you should stop hanging out with Isadora. She’s not—”

Suddenly, Jodie shoved The Book back in her satchel. Her face paled and she stared at the floor as if she was afraid if she looked away it would vanish. Joe was about the ask what was wrong when heard a shuffle behind him.

Izzy stood in the doorway. “Uh, h-hey guys. Cleopatra was going to teach us how to play Senet. I wanted to ask if you’d like to join us, but now I realize that might be really boring so forget I was here.”

“Are you kidding?” Sam jumped out of his bed. “The rules of Senet are lost. No way I’m missing that!”

“Count me in.” Fred stood and stretched. “Beats lying around here with no wifi.”

“Did you really expect to have wifi here?”

“No, but it would’ve been nice.”

“We’ll join you guys in a bit,” Joe said. “Jodie and I are finishing up here.”

Fred and Sam nodded and headed off to the girls’ room. Izzy glanced back at them. Concern flashed across her face before disappearing into the hall.

Jodie groaned and faced palmed. “She heard me, didn’t she? Darn it! This is the worst.”

Joe was beyond confused. Jodie wasn’t one to hide how she felt about anything or anyone. If she hated Izzy, why would she care if she knew?

“I don’t know what your deal is with her,” Joe said, “but you should give her a chance. Yeah, she can be a little weird at first but she’s pretty cool and fun. I think you two would get along if you apologize. She’s actually surprisingly forgiving—”

“I don’t hate her!” Jodie snapped. “It’s just…” A heavy sigh. “She shouldn’t be here. Not now. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Okay, that didn’t make any sense. Before he could ask her to elaborate, a shriek followed by a crash echoed through the hall from the girls’ room. Joe and Jodie jumped and rushed to the room, not knowing what was to come when they got there.

[livingintheworldofstories]

forgiveness (can you imagine)

Genre: angst with a happy ending Word Count: 8273 Summary: After Beelzebub slams the door to Hell in his face, Crowley walks to Aziraphale's bookshop, but he can tell that something is off. He falls to his knees in pain - and then he realizes. She is making him Rise. It's painful. It's what he would never admit that he wanted. (Maybe now he can be loved.) ao3: forgiveness (can you imagine) If there is one thing Crowley is absolutely certain of, it is this: Once a demon, always a demon. However, what Crowley is absolutely certain of and what Crowley dreams of are quite different things. On lazy afternoons, he dreams he is a serpent and has always been a serpent. On good days, he dreams he is a demon and has always been a demon. But on the bad days, Crowley dreams he is forgiven. And loveable. And loved.

(Once an angel…)

Same side, he dreams voraciously. White-winged and golden-eyed, he dreams wolfishly. Untainted, unsullied, unmarked. Every blessed four-letter-word. Good, nice, kind, he dreams ravenously.

(You were an angel once.) And hungrily, hungrily, he dreams, a soft warm hand grasping skinny fingers. Yellow eyes and dark heart forgotten. What was once wretched. What was once wicked. Forgiven. Skin that has forgotten the shape of scales. I recognize you. I see you. We are the same. (Flames so hot they dance blue, licking up and licking down and licking everywhere as of yet untouched by pain.)

A Shakespeare play unwritten. Stars uncrossed. The sweetest love confessions, like poems, honey of the soul. He dreams so desperately. Two angels, side by side.

(Feathers burning so quickly, so easily, like they were meant for it. Stubborn flesh burns harder.) On worse days, at his weakest, Crowley dreams he is whole. He has never broken his wings. He has never disappointed anyone. He has never made a mistake so bad it can’t be forgiven. Pathetically, he dreams, I deserve to be loved.

(That was a long time ago.)

Crowley wakes up, and knows the nature of a demon, and knows to hold his tongue.

It’s just after the Nahpocalypse that he gets it a little mixed up and washes his dreams over into his carefully separated reality.

Demons, typically, do not hope. Hope is just a few technicalities removed from faith after all. It had been viciously burned out of them when they screamed during the Fall and no one came. Crowley, of course, has always been a rather terrible demon.

(This is where the sunset will take inspiration from. How beautiful, it thinks, watching white wings burn hot red, ardent orange, spiteful yellow. I will make those colors mine.) So for a few awful days after the world doesn’t end, Crowley is consumed with shameful, treacherous hope. His whole corporation is brimming with it. It’s brimming with idiotically composed hypotheticals. What if Heaven was holding him back? What if he lets himself have things now? Or some more pathetic ones. What if he will hold my hand?

(You do not land from a fall like this.)

But, of course, among all the things that changed, there are things that didn’t.

(You crash.)

Crowley is still a demon. It is intrinsic to his being that he can not be loved, certainly not by an angel. Unloved is woven into his pitch black feathers. Unforgiveable is braided into his fire hair. Maybe that’s what’s holding Aziraphale back.

(The crash is what leaves the life of what once was an angel hanging by a string. Any being with burning wings thinks it knows pain. But then their bones shatter. Then the fierce power of the impact knocks the breath out of their lunges. They would think, that knocked the soul out of my body, if they could still form coherent thoughts.)

Because Aziraphale knows. The very core of his being is rotten and wormed. There is no unseeing that. And hope dies a slow death in Crowley’s heart, as days pass, and everything is different and stays the same.

(You can only live through this if you convince yourself you do not have a soul.)

Maybe that is why he chooses to wander into hell, under thinly veiled excuses. No one bothers him on his way in. He makes it all the way to his office before he is stopped, two demons grabbing his arms and the Lord of Flies fixes him with an angry glare and crossed arms.

(In toxicity and heat, only the most stubborn beings survive. Maggots crawling up your calves, flies kissing your eyes, leeches clinging to your skin, a parasite disguises its greed as love and you reach for it without hesitation, without inhibitions. You let yourself be fooled with the hopeless desperation of a starving man.) “What are you doing here, Crowley?” Beelzebub asks, head tilted.

“I was just – ehh, y’know, clearing out my office -”

Beelzebub waves a hand, a cue for the demons to drag him through the narrow corridors of Hell. They ignore Crowley’s struggling and his shuffling feet and keep a tight grip. Outside the doors of Hell, they sent him on an undignified tumble with a shove. Crowley takes a moment to find his feet, but then he whirls around. Beelzebub and their demon bouncers are standing in the doorway.

“You can’t just – I mean, no hospitality, you people. I’m a demon too! I have rights! Worker’s rights, ever heard of it?”

“You’re no demon,” Beelzebub buzzes and slams the door in his face. Crowley blinks at it for a few moments, feeling oddly dejected.

(An apple that isn’t picked falls.)

Downtrodden, Crowley starts to walk somewhere, anywhere. He follows the familiar way to the bookshop almost automatically. He doesn’t know what he wanted in Hell, not really. He hasn’t belonged there for a long time. Perhaps he was looking for some familiarity. Perhaps he wanted to remind himself of what he deserves.

He breathes in the open space and lets himself think of Aziraphale. It’s not too late for lunch. Forget about what he can never have. Most dreams are best locked away. He just needs to put a lid on it somehow, the same way he has done for millennia.

Oh, he knows. There are some questions you do not ask. There are some strings you don’t pull. Not if you want to keep – not if you want to stay - He breathes in deeply, the smog-filled dirty London air, the free sky air, cold breeze air.

(But you do rise eventually. Sulfur dripping from what remains of your wings, every bit of you that can still feel aching, and strangely certain She doesn’t love you anymore, you rise.) This is how to carry on: You saunter forward. You keep your eyes ahead. On his way, he notices a total of four (four!) people who smile at him. It’s like the opposite of people staring because you have something on your shirt. It’s like everyone being very impressed with you because you don’t have something on your shirt. Crowley is thoroughly unsettled by it.

He does not expect the sudden piercing pain in his chest. It makes him crumble to his knees. The humans start sending him irritated glances now, so he scrambles to his feet and ducks into the nearest alley. Next to three black trash bags, Crowley lets himself be consumed by the ache.

Crowley has had his fair share of pain and millennia to feel it, but he has never felt anything like this before. It’s pain reinvented, like someone changed up the formula, just to make torture a little more interesting.

Fuck. Where the bloody Heaven is it coming from? Crowley’s knees buckle again and he props himself up by his hands, the rough asphalt digging into his palms. Fuck, is he dying? It feels like dying. He has never touched holy water, but he imagines this is what it must be like, like burning without burning.

It’s the mirror-image of agony. It’s pain in a different flavor. It’s death by – love. That’s what it is. Love. Bloody angelic fucking love. And there is something distinctly holy about it. It’s been an eternity since he’s felt like this, like this without the pain, like this but like it belonged in his body. But he remembers – fuck, he remembers and back then it was good, so good. (It’s a method of torture to put someone in a room for days and never turn off the light.)

He looks around frantically, searching for who did this to him, if it was Beelzebub and her demons, if it was an angel because only an angel could cause divine agony like this. But there is no one – he is alone in the alley with the trashcans – there is nobody but him, just like back then.

It’s everywhere, even in his toes, even in his fingertips. If he could feel pain in his hair or his nails, he would.

Maybe it’s Her. What if it’s Her? What if She is punishing him now, for saving the world or for asking too many questions or for not being good enough of a demon? Maybe She’s decided that if he doesn’t fit in the two categories she has carved out for them, he doesn’t deserve to exist at all. Maybe She’d decided he’d asked for too much. (He had. He’d asked for the world and for love and for nights spent stargazing and holding hands with an angel.) And She wouldn’t even let him say good-bye to Aziraphale. How is that for mercy? (He had never known Her to be merciful.)

He tries to grab his phone through the pain, but his hands are shaking and it slips through his fingers. Tremors roll through his body and he leans forward.

“It’s not fair,” he mutters, grinding his hands against the ground. He feels like he did in the burning bookshop, only this time he doesn’t have to lose his world. His world will stay, it’s only him who will be gone. That’s better. That’s almost something resembling okay. Aziraphale will be fine.

He’d thought he was dying back then, he’d really thought he would, back then he had still thought she would be merciful. Maybe this is Her finishing the job.

If he’s dying, why does it have to hurt so much? Couldn’t She have done it in his sleep, if She’s oh so powerful? (But he doesn’t deserve it, does he? He doesn’t deserve a peaceful exit. That’s what She’s always thought, that he should BURN BURN BURN) He screams

broken s o u n d s  tumbling out of his mouth

Drowning

It’s like DROWNING

He has died like humans do a few times he has never drowned but almost so he knows -

It is drowning and surviving. Gulping up water, have it fill your lungs, and it does, it’s everywhere, holy and everywhere, he is choking on it and gasping for air that won’t come and never being granted the mercy of death.

This is the holy water that will refuse to kill you. He is  n o t  dying, dying is easy, he has done it over and over, he is living and that’s worse WORSE Where is HER MERCY? Humans die, and they say it’s like walking toward the light at the end of the tunnel. Why do they get to have it so easy? Why does light burn burn burn like water does. . And his wings. They hurt so much, he has to drag them onto this plane of existence.

. !

? Blue, everything. is. blue. ?

?

?

? They move

drag

on their own accord

on SOMEONES accord

-

upwards

UPwards

u p w a r d s - but they drag down go up but drag down heavy as lead as a lead balloon as the beginning of the world But you fly anyway, impossibly, against each downwards drag of your wings. (It’s like falling upwards.) (It’s still losing. It’s always losing.) He flies with wings in agony. Drowning. Only there is no water to drown in. It wells up inside of him, invisible and not really water.

Tears, though. Those burn. Like holy holy water. Surviving. Even though you’ve run out of air long ago and all you breathe is water, wet and cold. And it is Good.

He could feel how very bloody Good it was. (And Goodness hurts and scathes and sometimes kills. And Goodness does not repent. Goodness leaves a trail of bodies after itself and does not glance back a single time.) Why does She want him so high? So She can drop him? So he can Fall again? And again and again?  Why is he surprised?

She brings him closer and closer – to Heaven – to what he once was - She will drop him - She will drop him out of the clouds - And worst of all -

He will never see Aziraphale again.

(Can She drag him up again by broken wings?)

He always thought he would die by love, all the love that has always consumed him and eaten him and devoured him and sustained him and nourished him and healed him – but Aziraphale is not even here, but Love is and doesn’t leave.

He doesn’t need Love with a capital L, he never has. He had love instead.

(And he was good at it, if there was one thing at all he was good at, it was this. He loved. Like a human. Like an angel. Like a demon with nothing else to live for. He’d loved, and it had been so, so good, and She would never take it away from him.)

And it had been so much. Too much. He had expected to drown in love, yes, but not like this. (He had expected a touch lingering too long.) (He had expected a gaze too intense.) (He had expected words too harsh.) (Those were the things he had prepared to die for.) (And oh, the love he had lived for.)

Higher, higher, he keeps shooting higher, he cannot stop his wings. (He will fly too close to the sun.) More than he would like to admit, I am scared. If this is dying, when do we get to the good part? If this is not dying, what is it? Is this my punishment for hoping? For asking? Should have known better than to hope. Am a demon after all.

demon aren’t i why does it feel wrong to think demon (unforgiveable it’s what i AM) I am a demon, I am unfor- I am un- I am a- I am an Giveable for u n Able lov u n Nomed N O M E D I am. Scattered letters on my tongue. I am an. I will die touching the clouds. (I am flying too close to the sun.) (But you don’t know how much I have always ached with it.) (You think your Love can kill me, go on, try it. I fucking dare you.) (Torture me with kindness. Whip me with niceties. Hollow me out with your Love, I fucking dare you.) You do not get to shape me. You do not get to make me. I am not your bruise to press on.

(I did ask when I was Burning.)

(I begged.) (Resurrect my soul. Glue my wings back on. Heal those sulfur burns. Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.) You are slicing through the air and it is slicing through you. You are the weapon and the wound.

(You have flown too close to the sun.)

You are Her Enemy. You are Her detested door-to-door salesman. You are a dried leaf under Her boot and She likes to hear it crack.

…

You are Her child. … You are My child.

you are my child i love you i’m sorry -

The Goodness and the Love and the Holiness flood his veins and his essence and everything, until there is no room for him anymore.

It will keep pressing, he knows. Until he is burned away. And it’s okay. Aziraphale is safe. And it was all worth it. He has loved. He is ready to go.

But then it eases – but She will not let him – he can breathe again – his wings are his again – he is floating -

He gains control of his wings and lands on the ground of the alley softly. And he can tell. Something is Gone. And something is There.

There are two things he is certain of: He is Forgiven. He is Loved. Which makes him not certain of anything anymore.

He is shaking, even though the pain is gone. Once a demon. (Once a demon…) ? Once a.

? ?

?

He will not be loved. He will not be forgiven. He is. He’s.

It’s everywhere. He has felt it before, but that was a long, long time ago.

Love is not something to have. It’s a passer-by. It’s a precious visitor. It is not in its nature to last. (Not for someone like Crowley.) Love will not be owned. (And if there is one place it does not belong it’s behind yellow slitted eyes.) He knows what it feels like to have Love bleeding from your fingertips. Love oozing from star-maker’s hands. Love dripping red from curled angel hair. Love is not to keep. What just happened? What happened? Something is Missing. Something is There.

He is a demon, he has wings. He has… White. Why are they white? Fucking shit. Fucking hell. Holy fucking shit. Fucking Heaven. They’re white. They can’t be white. It’s impossible. (They burned in fire and in acid. They broke and healed. They are as black as a void where goodness used to lie.) He tears off his sunglasses and turns them around, quickly skimming his reflection in the glass. The eyes are still there. But the wings are looming behind him, as if he were – some sort of – holy – ngk

And if there’s one thing Crowley is absolutely certain of, it is this -

(It’s WHAT I AM -) once. crowley was once an angel. Fuck. As a matter of fact, no. No. No no no no no.

Crowley does not run to Aziraphale’s bookshop. It is an emergency, but not one that warrants superfluous exercise. He does, however, walk at a very brisk pace.

He does not think anything but a never-ending string of swear words and curses. He throws open the door to the bookshop and there he is. Safe. Whole. Tartan bow tie and everything.

He almost walks back out when he is hit with a wave of love stronger than anything he felt out on the street, love that he knows is not his own.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley rasps. He can’t say the other thing at the moment. “Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale starts walking toward him, hands anxiously fidgeting in front of him. “What’s going on? What happened? Is it angels? Are angels after you? I could swear I’m sensing one close by, I’ve been a little… nervous about it.” “Nah – no, it’s not – it’s not angels, I don’t think, it’s -”

“But I’m usually never wrong about these things.” Aziraphale frowns.

“Well – well you’re not wrong, technically, it’s just.” Crowley can’t say it and tries to scramble for a place to start. “I went to hell.” “Hell? Why? Did they take you? Did they hurt you? Are you hurt?”

The expression on Aziraphale’s face is heartbreaking. But Crowley is fine. Isn’t he? Nothing broken. This time, there are no scars. Skin is unblemished now. “No, I’m not hurt, well, not anymore, but… I don’t know why I went into hell, it was stupid. But then she – she slammed the door in my face and said you’re no demon, which ha! Fair enough. Just Beelzebub being petty, you’d think. You don’t just un-become a demon. It’s not like – not like I could be some sort of an aardvark all out of a sudden. That’s not how it works.” Aziraphale has come very close now and reaches out his hands to clasp Crowley’s, which is probably meant to be reassuring but makes the panic flare up inside of him. Maybe it’s not even panic, but some other embarrassing emotion close to it.

“My dear, what are you saying?”

Crowley clenches his jaw. He can’t say it. Aziraphale will think he’s mad. He is mad. This is mad.

Aziraphale is fine. Now that he’s seen it, he should leave. Maybe he can just… sleep it off. Maybe it will all turn out to be a very strange dream. He will wake up in his flat, as demon as ever, and there will be nothing to be confused about, nothing to dread and nothing to hope for.

But he can still feel it. As real as anything. Buzzing under his skin and above his skin. In the bookshop, he can tell it’s everywhere. Is that Aziraphale’s love? It’s… shining. It’s so beautiful. No, it can’t be. There’s too much of it.

His lips are clamped together, but his wings are not. He unfolds them right here in the bookshop. They are so bright. Brighter than they should have any right to be.

Aziraphale lets go of his hands and stumbles back. He makes a small ‘oh’ sound.

What will he think? That it’s ridiculous. It is ridiculous.

(That it shouldn’t have happened. Crowley doesn’t have what it takes to be one, that’s obvious to anyone.) (That he has wanted this to happen. That he has wanted to upend Crowley’s entire being and remake it ever since they met on the wall. That this is good.) Aziraphale presses his hands in front of his mouth and just stares.

That’s when it occurs to Crowley – things are different now. He hasn’t changed, but things have. Unforgiveable unraveled and turned into forgiven. Unloveable unraveled and turned into loveable. How much more would it take for loveable to turn into loved? Maybe Aziraphale will let himself -

(Is the apple still so tempting when it is not forbidden anymore?)

“Is this -” Crowley asks, “Could we -”

He thinks, Aziraphale will just know. Because of course he is asking. He is asking.

But Aziraphale is shaking his head. Still staring.

Oh, the eyes. He forgot about the eyes. Quickly, he puts on another pair of sunglasses. His eyes are still demon. He is a demon, but watered down. Still too demon. Even when he’s not.

“I – I know the eyes are still – but it doesn’t matter, I’m -” and it doesn’t feel right, but if this is what it takes to convince Aziraphale – “I’m an angel, right?” We’re on the same side, right? We’re the same. Right? Just don’t look past the sunglasses, and it will be fine. Just forget that my wings were black only yesterday. Aziraphale’s expression changes, but Crowley can’t tell. “You being -” Aziraphale hesitates too, “- an angel doesn’t change how I feel about you, dear.” “Oh.”

Crowley had let himself hope again and he’d barely even noticed it. But he shouldn’t have. Maybe in time, Aziraphale would get used to it. Maybe in time, he would fall in love. But not so soon. Crowley has waited six thousand years, he can wait a little longer.

Unless.

Unless it doesn’t matter. Unless what’s on the surface doesn’t count, only what Aziraphale knows to be true and what he knows to be true is that Crowley is a demon and meant to be a demon and demons can never be redeemed. Maybe She has changed Her mind about that, but that doesn’t mean Aziraphale has.

Aziraphale knows.

(Maybe it was never being a demon what made him unloveable.)

But he can wait. He will. He’ll be patient.

Oh, the love. It’s starting to become unbearable.

“How did it happen?”

“I don’t know – it just suddenly started. I was walking here and then suddenly I was Rising.” “How? How do you Rise?” Aziraphale seems astonished by it. And Crowley thinks of burning love. Of water that is not water. Of divine agony. “Just… sauntered vaguely upwards,” he says and shrugs. It’s strange how different and familiar it feels. How foreign and home. How far and how close. “There’s just so much love here,” he says, just to say anything else, “where does it all come from?” Aziraphale looks surprised and then bashful.

“Maybe it would help if I stepped outside for a moment?” “Why, what’s the problem?” Crowley asks, confused. “Oh, wait, you don’t mean – all that love is coming from you?” Ah. That explains. It was a stupid question earlier, although it’s not like that’s ever stopped him. He should have been able to tell. So much love, so much, and none of it is directed at Crowley. (There is the proof Crowley never wanted that Aziraphale was not just lying to Crowley or even to himself.)

“It is,” Aziraphale says softly, resigned, almost like he just admitted to something. “I am an angel after all.” But Crowley has always known that Aziraphale loves. But he had not known how sweet it would feel, even if it’s just a dream that it’s for him.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asks and comes closer again. “I know it must be a startling change.” “Ha! You can say that again. Count me startled alright.” Crowley runs his fingers through his hair and lets out a slow breath. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just… don’t understand why She would do this. Why would She just – shake everything up again? I thought – She made the rules clear all these years ago and now I feel like maybe I was playing an entirely different game all along.” Like he thought they were playing chess, but it was really Monopoly all along.

“Maybe… maybe She wanted to reward you.”

Aziraphale had not been there. He had not felt it. To him, being an angel comes without a price attached. “No,” Crowley insists immediately. “No way. It must be some sort of punishment. I just can’t see how yet.” “Is it so hard to believe that the Universe would simply be kind to you?”

“Yes,” Crowley says tersely.

She isn’t kind, She plays games. The Universe has never granted him favors. Anything Crowley tried to do right has always gone wrong.

“I can’t,” he realizes suddenly, “sorry, angel. I can’t.” He rushes out of the bookshop and doesn’t listen to Aziraphale’s stammering and doesn’t turn back around. It’s not just the conversation he can’t do, it’s all of this. He’s not an angel. He’s not a bloody angel. He doesn’t want to be an angel. Angels are stuffy and hypocritical. Angels have hurt him and have hurt Aziraphale. He doesn’t want to be an angel. (He has never wanted to be a demon either, of course, but that’s semantics.) The Bently is still at the entrance of hell, so he takes a Taxi back to his flat.

“I’m not an angel,” he says to the air. He circles his throne and flops down on it. A moment later, he gets up again and starts pacing the room.

“Do you think this counts?!” he says, growing more agitated. “Do you think the pain just – goes away? It doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t mean you never let me suffer. You did. You did.” He slams his hands down on the table, then braces himself on them.

“You might have Forgiven me. Maybe. Maybe you did. But that doesn’t mean that I will forgive you.”

He just can’t figure it out. So he yells. Yells loudly, as if something like volume could ever make Her hear him. “Why did you do this?” he yells, “what do you want from me? Do you want me to forgive you because I won’t. Do you want me to be your perfect little angel because you can forget that.” She has never heard him. For millenia he has begged her, he has asked her, he has yelled at her and She has never responded. “FUCK you,” he yells. “You hear me? Yes, I just cursed your fucking name. Are you going to make me Fall again, now? Then go ahead and do it.”

Is that Her game? Are those the stakes? He’d never known back then. That that was something that could happen. But now he does. Now he knows Her and what She is and what She will do.

“Is that what you want? For me to make the next mistake so you can push me out again?” That must be it, right? Why else would she do this? It’s oh so in-fucking-effable.

“I won’t be your blasted clean slate!” His plants are shivering, even though it’s not them he’s yelling at. “I won’t be your blank canvas, just for you to hurt again.” (I will not have everything just to lose it all.) (I will not climb high just so I can fall deeper.) “I am a demon,” he says with a certainty he doesn’t have, “I don’t care how white my wings are, I am a demon.” Demon means many things and most of them Crowley has always hated with his whole being. But demon also means ‘abandoned’. Demon means ‘pushed over the edge of Heaven’. “I am a demon. You didn’t not hurt me just because I don’t have the scars to prove that you did.”

She cannot erase him. She can’t write him out of existence, it’s too late for that. He might die, yes, but he was here and he was a demon and she can’t take that from him. “Twice,” he snarls, “twice you’ve ripped away who I am. Redefined my being how it pleases you. I am not your plaything. I am not your game piece.”

He pushes himself away from the table again, suddenly drained from anger. “I am not Crawly,” he says. And refuses to be.

***

The angels come for Aziraphale the next day. He is not expecting them. They scoop him up outside his bookshop and drag him up.

Gabriel is with them, but not to get his hands dirty. He is here to taunt. To mock.

“You’re not an angel, Aziraphale,�� he says, “you should have Fallen. We’re just helping to – speed things along, as it were.” So that’s what they were after – a Fall. Aziraphale had often wondered what it would be like to Fall. He had wondered if the freedom would be worth the pain.

In the privacy of his mind, he has drawn up a list of things he would say if he were Fallen. And a list of things he would do.

There were times he had wanted it. (Our side.)

They keep dragging him up, knows he is too weak to break free and he will not miss Heaven.

They break his wings with a well-placed blow half-way to the clouds and he will not miss the angels.

When they reach the lowest cloud, he slips free.

It’s not the angels who make him Fall. Angels don’t have that kind of power.

What makes him Fall is a thought that starts with How could She do this to him? The thought follows Why do you let him be an angel now and not six thousand years ago? It stumbles briefly over Why do they get to be angels? The thought reaches Are you saying he didn’t deserve it before? Because he did. He deserved everything. It dives right into You don’t know what’s right or wrong, do you? And hits You’re just playing a game with full force.

It’s not quite I don’t believe you did the right thing that does it. It’s the thought he ends with: I don’t believe in you. He falls. He looks up at the sky and the clouds and the somber faces of beings that were supposed to be good. And he thinks, I don’t believe. And then he Falls.

He doesn’t try to move his broken wings. He lets it happen.

(He had thought Falling would take longer.) (But it’s over quickly.) (It’s hitting the ground that hurts.)

(The force of his fall denting the asphalt.) He lies in the rubble. And he knows that something is Gone. And something else is There.

Several of his bones are broken, but it’s nothing he can’t mend. His corporation survives the fall. Love doesn’t.

He lies and lets himself feel the loss of it. I don’t want your Love, he thinks and misses it terribly.

He stares at the far-away sky for a long time. It is untouchable now. For a long while, he lets himself feel the pain - and finds it’s not a fresh wound. It’s very old and has been bleeding for a long time. Maybe it can finally start healing now.

Then he thinks, I should get on with it. If Crowley can do it, so can I. Then he rises up in his spot of rubble. And then he does. ***

(He does not call Crowley. He locks the bookshop and closes his blinds.)

(He cries for as long as his corporation will produce tears.)

(He tears half of his books apart with his fingers and all the brute force he can summon, then he miracles them back together. Once. Twice.) (He screams at Her, but he doesn’t use words. She will understand.) (He lets his phone go to voice mail and miracles it apart when it keeps ringing.) (He does not answer the knocks on his door.) “Aziraphale!” (Not the banging either.) “Angel!” (His bones have healed but the pain fills him from head to toe.)

“Please let me in.” (He posts Crowley a letter. I’m fine. Go away. He lets it float outside the bookshop.)

(It goes quiet.) (He can still sense an angel around.) *** A week later, Aziraphale dusts the bookshop.

It’s ineffable.

Aziraphale is Fine. He lifts the blinds. To Hell with ineffable.

He gets on with it.

*** Crowley is leaning against the door of the bookshop when it opens. He gets to his feet swiftly and turns around, but he balks when he sees Aziraphale’s face.

“No,” Crowley says and backs away. Scared. “She can’t – She can’t, She wouldn’t dare. Not you.”

Because I would tear Heaven apart for you, and She knows it – I would tear her whole Creation apart until She was the only being left and then I would put Her to trial.

“No. It’s fine.”

Aziraphale looks indeed fine for someone who has spent a week holed up in a bookshop. He looks too fine. Unnaturally fine. He ushers him into the bookshop and closes the door behind them.

“It’s not,” Crowley says quietly.

“Well, it is what it is. No use in dwelling on it.”

But Crowley will dwell on it. For a long time.

“What happened? Why didn’t you call me?”

He is frantic with concern, the shock of finding the locked-up bookshop still deep in his bones. He hadn’t expected this. He would have expected angels to come and get their revenge. Not Her. “I believe this is something I had to do alone,” Aziraphale says.

These are the repercussions. This is the price. Why would She make Aziraphale, Aziraphale of all angels, the best angel there is, why would She make him Fall?

“Did it hurt?”

Too much time with a demon. Where is the limit?

You can have my soul, you can have my heart, you can have my wings, I let you take it all, but not him – you can’t have him. “It didn’t hurt a lot for a Fall.”

He has dreamed of this. He is a complete and utter bastard and he has dreamed of this. What if Aziraphale were a demon? What if I were an angel? He had never imagined those two would collide. “But it hurt.” Aziraphale doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.

This is the cruelty he knows from Her. She will keep them forever apart. They can never touch. They will never be the same. Maybe that’s her punishment. (It is ever more cruel if you had hope. And Crowley has always been a terrible demon.) “I’m sorry,” Crowley says.

In a general bad-things-should-never-happen-to-you way but also in a very specific this-is-my-fault way.

“Don’t be,” Aziraphale says kindly. “We were always rather terrible at our jobs, weren’t we? You a bad demon. Me a bad angel.”

(I would give my grace to you, if I could.) (I don’t deserve it, I never did.) “I was a terrible angel too.”

“And I imagine I’ll make a terrible demon. I suppose it doesn’t really matter then, what we are.”

Why him why him why him why HIM?

“It does. It does!” Crowley is growing angry. “I can’t believe how calm you’re being. Why aren’t you freaking out? I’m freaking out.” “My dear, I’ve had six thousand years to learn that, angel or demon, it’s not important. They’re really just labels.”

“Just. Labels.” Crowley repeats dumbstruck.

He steps past Aziraphale to the sofa, grabs one of the pillows and presses it to his face. And then he screams.

Aziraphale doesn’t get it.

He doesn’t understand, this is all on Crowley. Crowley never should have talked to an angel on the edge of Eden. He never should have gotten so close.

“What about Love?” he tries, choked up.

“It was a bit overwhelming sometimes. All that Love.” If Crowley could sense love, then so could Aziraphale back then. Then he’d sensed Crowley’s love – then he’d always known – and of course he’d known something so blindingly obvious – and it had all been too much for him, Crowley’s love, so much that he was glad to be rid of it. Not having to sense it anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley says again and he is. More than anything.

Crowley should go.

This is why Aziraphale had barricaded the bookshop.

It’s over. They both know it’s Crowley’s fault. He ruined this. He’d wanted to much. He’d wished a doomsday upon them.

“’s my fault,” he speaks it out into the open quietly. The sorry wraps around his throat like a snake and starts to strangle him. “It must have been my fault. I made you Fall. I tainted you.” (This is what happens when you touch an angel.) (When a demon touches an angel, they bleed into each other. It is as unholy as it is holy.) Aziraphale, who must be the kindest demon there is, if Crowley can ever accept he is a demon, does not condemn or accuse him. He will be gentle about his rejection. Aziraphale is an expert in wrapping brush-offs in nice words. He kicks people out of his bookshop with sensible shoes.

Can’t you see, angel? I did this I did this I did this to you I am worse than a demon

I am your monster, I am your nightmare, I am your Personal Hell I am your punishment, I am your crime, I am your worst mistake He is a thief and a scoundrel. He took it. He took Aziraphale’s grace. Aziraphale should hate him. Should kick him to the curb.

(He had seen something precious and wanted to own it.) And Aziraphale has always known, has rejected him at every turn because he always knew what was really there, but nothing has ever been as bad as this. There is no coming back from this. He will walk out the door of the bookshop and never return. Won’t be allowed to. (The most unforgiveable thing he has ever done is to be forgiven.) But Aziraphale looks at him, with his kindness. He steps toward him.

(You should not have let me touch your wings, lest I turn them black.)

You might not be Heaven’s angel, but you will always be mine. (I turned them black.) Aziraphale puts a hand to Crowley’s cheek, as if to soothe him.

(I never even kissed you, but I burned away your Grace.) Aziraphale tugs his sunglasses off gently. (Not burn, but take. Take and take and take.) “Dearest, don’t insult me,” Aziraphale says then, “this was nobody’s choice but my own.” “Choice?!” Crowley croaks.

“I was never much fond of being an angel, as you well know.” How can Aziraphale accept this so easily? Doesn’t he know - Why does he always understand but never understand -

But there is nothing to change it. This is the new world now. We are an angel and a demon has become true once more.

***

“It’s strange,” Crowley says, “I thought all your angel-love would disappear, but it’s all still here.” Aziraphale lets out a strangled sound. “Yeah, s-strange.” *** For a day there, they were both angels. But now Crowley has missed his chance.

*** “She has been quite cruel, from time to time,” Aziraphale says. *** “Even the kids.” *** A man rushes past Crowley when he enters the bookshop.

“Who spit in his coffee?” he asks Aziraphale, who is sorting books.

“Oh, I have a feeling he suffered a minor delusion and thought the book he picked up had maggots crawling all over it, but who knows.” “Okay, and who spit in your coffee?”

“Satan,” Aziraphale says innocently.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley exclaims, equal measures scandalized and bemused.

“Didn’t you see that book he was carrying in his bag? Full of dog-ears. I will not tolerate a book-abuser in my shop.”

“I see.” Crowley hides his smirk.

*** A girl runs along the sidewalk and trips over her own feet. Crowley, sitting in the Bentley, sees her fall. Her knee is scraped and starts bleeding. She’s crying. Crowley’s heart flies into his throat.

He wants to heal her. It’s a forbidden emotion. It’s Something Not To Think About. He is not allowed to want things whole. Except now he is.

It’s a subtle miracle. Crowley gets out of the car and gives a short wave of hand. The skin mends itself and the scrape is gone.

He has done this kind of thing before, of course. When there were no other demons around. This time he doesn’t feel guilty. “Did you just heal -” Aziraphale starts when he walks into the bookshop.

“Shut up.” ***

“Oh, but you can’t leave without trying the crème brûlée,” Aziraphale tells the couple on its way out the French restaurant. “It’s simply – well, divine.”

The couple has a change of heart. “I’m starting to think it’s the opposite,” Crowley remarks and raises an eyebrow.

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating,” Aziraphale says cheerfully and takes a bite of asparagus. *** Crowley leaves for the homeless shelter every now and then. Aziraphale knows better than to ask.

***

Crowley doesn’t know what to do with Love. It feels like it belongs to somebody else. But he also knows that missing it is worse, so much worse. He knows Aziraphale doesn’t tell him everything.

And he can’t bear the thought, not even of Aziraphale being a demon but of Aziraphale suffering like a demon.

He won’t feel Unforgiveable, not now that they know that demons can be Forgiven. But cut away from Love, from Her Love, not being able to sense it anymore… Crowley knows that it’s hard. It’s lonely.

Sometimes, it’s like freezing out in the cold. Sometimes, it’s like starving of something. He wants to give it back to Aziraphale, even if only a sliver. Only a modicum of what he really deserves.

And Crowley… well, he has Love but he does not have love. Not the kind he wants.

“I want you to know… it’s not gone,” he tells Aziraphale on a quiet evening, sitting next to him on the sofa.

“What, my dear?” “I… I know you always knew… and of course, I know you don’t return – I just want you to know. Because it’s the not knowing… that’s really painful.”

Crowley is explaining himself badly, but it’s been in his mind for so long, it’s hard to let it out.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Aziraphale diverts his full attention to him now. “Well, it’s… It didn’t really become clear to me that you knew, must know, until I could sense love myself.” Quickly, Crowley adds: “But I still do.” “Do what?” Aziraphale looks very confused, which means he’s not being deliberately obtuse. And he’ll have to say it. It hurts to say it, but nothing is as bad as Aziraphale not knowing.

“I love you,” Crowley says softly. “And you know that. You must have been able to sense it for millenia. So I hope you realize… you’re not unloved. Could never be. Not as long as I’m alive.”

Aziraphale’s mouth drops open.

“You don’t have to respond!” Crowley rushes to say. “All this time, you haven’t said anything, so – so that’s an answer in itself. I mean, I sense love, of course I know you don’t. Can’t.”

This will not break them. If nothing has yet, this does not have the power to. But it still hurts. Oh, it hurts. And he has always, always wanted too much. “My darling, I think you’re not yet an expert at the sensing of love.”

Crowley rolls his eyes.

“It doesn’t exactly require a lot of skill.” Aziraphale sends him a calculating look.

“Who do you think my love belongs to, then?”

It sounds like a trick question. “Wha – the world?”

Aziraphale shakes his head. “A nice thought, but I really don’t love the world all that much.” “Then what?” “It’s a misconception, you know. That angels can tell where the love comes from. We – they can only tell that it’s there.”

So he didn’t know. He didn’t know that Crowley loved him – well, he should have been able to tell anyway.

But then Crowley’s throat goes try. His mind should not go there, but it does. The well of hope inside of Crowley is endless. No matter how much of it you snuff out, there is always more to come.

“So hypothetically,” Crowley says.

“Yes, hypothetically…” “All this love could be directed… at one person.”

Crowley scoots a little closer to Aziraphale. “Even a demon?” Crowley adds. “Yes, a demon,” Aziraphale breathes. Yes, feast yourself on my tainted love. Do you think you are immune to poison because it was home in my veins? Are you willing to take your chances?

It’s bad. Crowley shouldn’t do this. But he can’t stop his hand from reaching out. He stops at at the last moment, just before touching Aziraphale’s and quickly draws it back. He almost forgot. There’s a crater between them still.

“But you won’t let yourself,” he says and is certain that it’s true. They are an angel and a demon, it doesn’t matter who is which. Aziraphale thinks they don’t fit. “We’re an angel and a demon. ‘S probably some sort of law of nature against it.”

Hope dies a slow death in his chest. “You’re probably right,” Aziraphale says, which speeds up the process a little. “But -”

“But?” “As of late, it turns out, I’m a bit of a rebel.” Crowley’s head shoots up. “What?” “And I don’t care much for rules.”

I have always been venomous, you should have known to stay away. You shouldn’t have let me tempt you. (Soft-seeming lips, did you let yourself be caught off-guard by the teeth behind?) “Aziraphale,” Crowley whispers and it’s do you want this will you let me can you forgive me? Aziraphale takes his hand. Please don’t let me bite you. “You really shouldn’t,” Crowley says.

“Why not?”

Aziraphale looks at him so earnestly, so seriously, like Crowley matters. “Falling for it wasn’t enough of a clue?” “You didn’t make me Fall, dear. That was all me.”

“But I’m not g-” his voice is wet “good for you.” “You are.” Aziraphale’s voice is rising. “You didn’t need to be an angel for me to know that.”

He wants to lean in, lean so close he can breathe Aziraphale’s breath, he wants to press his lips to Aziraphale’s but he’s frightened that Aziraphale would let him.

Venom on my lips and poison in my blood, I taste so sour, darling, don’t drink from me. And I know you are a glutton for it, you are a glutton for the finer things. But don’t drink your punishment from me, it won’t taste well. But then Aziraphale leans forward and kisses him and Crowley can’t stop him and he doesn’t want to and Aziraphale’s love tastes so, so sweet. And Crowley doesn’t like eating pastries or candy but he loves this.

She will never have this. She could never create this. She could never remake the world in a way that he won’t fall for Aziraphale.

It’s a slow kiss and it’s a little difficult to fit all that love between their lips, but they manage it.

She could never take this. She can drown the world and She can burn the world and She can banish the angels and She can grow a garden in Hell, but this love will always be there. She can’t touch it.

Crowley is not rotting, not anymore – he is blooming, like the blossoms on an apple tree. Not even he can destroy this.

He is touching the sun. He is living in it.

“Well then,” Aziraphale says and beams at him. “Can I tempt you to dinner?” Crowley groans. “Oh, you’re insufferable.”

Aziraphale looks very smug.

“Then I suppose you’ll just have to smite me. With, what was it? Your angelic righteousness.”

They stand up from the sofa at the same time and start walking toward the door.

“You’re a real bastard, Aziraphale,” Crowley tells him. Aziraphale preens at the compliment. Things are shaken up. They are a little different and a little the same. But Aziraphale and Crowley carry on as always. And Crowley still glues coins to the sidewalk every now and then. Aziraphale still blesses babies once and again. One of them might be an angel and the other might be a demon.

Semantics, really.

[another-sonic-blog]

Stages: Alone Kisses

Stages: Close Friends Pt.1: Alone Kisses (Chapter 10)

Pairing: ShadAmy (Friends to Lovers SLOW BURN)

3k300

Previous: https://another-sonic-blog.tumblr.com/post/190482842375/stages-her

.

   It began to rain as soon as Amy arrived at the Resistance. It has been a long day, she had a new job that required most of her night time. It was busy around the day but not as busy at night. She was adjusting well to her night shifts but she had to admit that not sleeping properly got the best of her.

She had to wake up early tomorrow too, she needed the extra cash, so she took on more shifts.

She didn't get enough time to tell Shadow that there was no way she was going to accept the restaurant he gave her.

Even if he asked her to take it as a favor, she was going to deny it.  

She finished showering, brushing her teeth and hair and finally, she was going to get some sleep. She closed her eyes, expecting her to fall asleep immediately.

But that didn't happen, her mind was still trapped by that memory.

.

"So you are Maria, good thing you are here so I can-"

Amy was cut off as she felt a strong hand being placed on her right shoulder. Shadow wasn't looking at her directly but his eyes were aimed at the attractive blonde hedgehog. Amy knew it right there and then ... Shadow's eyes had a soft look, one that she had never seen. The fire in them had revived the moment their eyes met and Amy was terrified at the thought that Shadow was right.

He still loved her.

"Leave us," Shadow softly said. His voice sounded soft but at the same time firm. His message was clear, he was demanding for Amy to leave, but he didn't want to be rude about it either.

Amy couldn't do much, there were so many things that she wanted to say ... but she needed to save all of her thoughts for later.

She pushed Shadow's hand away, a bit hurt that he had to take Maria's side. She didn't take it personally, she knew that the couple needed to talk but it still pained her see the look that Shadow gave her.

"I'll see you later,"

And she left.

.

It has been a week now and she hasn't seen Shadow at all. She asked Rouge and Omega, but they said that since that day; they haven't seen him.

Amy went as far as to ask G.U.N's Commander if he knew information about her black hedgehog friend.

"He is taking a small break."

That's all he said to her. She looked for him everywhere, his house, which was empty. The park, restaurants, and places he had been seen at. Amy began to worry and it angered her that nobody really cared to know about his whereabouts either.

"Don't worry too much about him," Rouge added, "Shadow tends to disappear from time to time ... He just needs to cool off after what happened,"

Amy was at Rouge's house, thinking the one she could go to was the bat. She knew Shadow for the longest time, and if anyone knew about his weird behaviors, it was her.

"Will he come back?" Amy said as she looked at her cup of tea, her reflection showed her sadness.

"Of course, he left his favorite bike here ... Shadow would never leave forever without his bike." Rouge added, "Which reminds me, yesterday, we received the bike you gave Shadow."

"What? But Maria had it last time."

Rouge, who was sitting on the couch looked over at the small stand next to her. She opened a small box that was on top of it and she showed her DR's keys.

"Yes... strangely, it was back on G.U.N's vehicle parking. We don't know who left it but..." Rouge threw the keys at Amy as she caught them immediately. "There's not enough room in my garage, do you mind taking it with you?"

.

Now she drove DR without any restrictions. She wasn't going anywhere specifically, she was driving just to steam off some feelings.

She drove around the park, through the city, through hills and even the beach.

She felt pathetic at knowing she wasn't capable of doing anything when Shadow was in a dark place.

Her heart ached in pain at the thought of Shadow's suffering, there was a feeling inside of her; telling her that he must find him. She had grown attached to the hedgehog. She could admit that much. He was stubborn and selfish but he was incredibly sweet.

She found herself enjoying the company of the black hedgehog, to the extent she couldn't imagine a day without him. She adored seeing him try new things for her, the tender look on his eyes when would offer her his protection.

And the angelic laugh he shared with her.

Amy shook her head as she stopped her motorcycle with a sudden halt.

Was she? No, she couldn't be.

Her heart belonged to Sonic and him alone.

Shadow just a close friend.

A really close ...close friend that she cared for deeply.

Amy sighed as she mentally convinced herself that Shadow was nothing but a close friend. She turned on her bike again and went back to the Resistance before the night trapped her in it's darkness.

.

The next day, Amy ended her day shift at the restaurant. She was in a happier mood since she received a message from Rouge saying that Shadow was back at his apartment.

She couldn't wait to see him. She was excited to his angry face, his beautiful ruby eyes and warm smile-

Amy stopped herself again.

She was just glad he was back.

.

Amy clicked on the doorbell and she found herself nervous as she heard footsteps coming closer to the door.

She touched her quills to soften them, just to make sure Shadow wouldn't see them all frizzled. She hoped she didn't look bad after a long day at work.

She was looking down at the floor until she heard the apartment door open.

She looked up and green eyes met blue, the subside anger that was within Amy began to merge again.

"What are you doing here?", Amy hissed at her as Maria took a soft stand, enjoying her anger.

"I live here pinky."

Amy didn't think too much about it, she didn't pull out her hammer. Instead, she wanted to enjoy the feeling of her fist impacting Maria's face.

She was strong and Maria was caught by surprise. She found herself on the floor, bleeding from her nose.

Amy entered the apartment kinda surprised at her reaction. She didn't know if she was furious because Maria called her 'pinky' or because she implied that she was living under the same roof as Shadow.

"What do you think you are doing?!" Shadow came out of his room, storming to the living room where the two were.

"I am getting rid of the trash for you," Amy added as she got close to Maria.

"She hit me, Shady!" Maria whined. Although she wasn't too much in pain, she pretended to be so she could have Shadow's attention.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Shadow bent down towards Maria, making sure she was alright.

Again, Amy noticed those eyes.

Now she understood everything. It was the first time Shadow had actually cursed at her and she swore she could feel her heart shattered the moment the word escaped his lips. Shadow was hostile but he had never been this rude to her.

His eyes only showed concern towards Maria and to her... disappointment and angered.

He was siding with her. Maria who hurt Shadow in ways she didn't think it was possible. Maria who left him for another man while Shadow was at the hospital. She, who cheated on him multiple. All of the people he could side with, he took her side. Given her all attention, his tenderness, his affection.

And it hurt more because deep down... Amy wanted to be her.

"Are you siding with her?" Amy asked. She held her fists tightly, trying to contain herself.

"I think that's obvious." He replied.

"Why?"

Their eyes met, for a second Shadow felt embarrassment fill his body as he knew that his friend's intentions only meant good. He shouldn't have spoken to her like that. He should be with her right now, trying to explain about the decision he has taken.

Shadow's thoughts were abruptly interrupted as he felt Maria's lips touch his. She deepened the kiss the moment Shadow opened his mouth to protest. It was for a few seconds, after that they parted and Maria looked intensely at Amy.

"I think it is pretty obvious as well."

She wanted to take her hammer out and beat the hell out of the blonde one.

But she didn't. She walked away, containing the tears that pleaded to get out her eyes. She was stronger than this, she had gone through worse and she knew that no matter what... everyone left.

And that was just meant to happen.

Her agents, Cream, Knuckles, Tails, Sonic and now Shadow.

Everyone seemed to want to disappear from her life and eventually she learned that no matter how hard she tried... Everyone would leave her.

She didn't need anyone, she didn't need their good deeds. She was better by herself ... alone.

She exited the apartment and immediately went towards DR, she turned on the bike and was about to leave when suddenly; Shadow stood in front of her.

Shadow saw her glossy eyes, he noticed she was fighting the need to cry and Shadow regretted everything immediately.

From the time he had known Amy, he had never seen her shed a single tear. She was the strongest individual he knows and to see her almost break ...

It completely made his heart stop.

 A few seconds passed, in which Amy and Shadow didn't share a word. She was starting to feel irritated.

She looked down at the bike, she laughed sarcastically as she stepped down from the bike.

"Of course," She threw the keys at Shadow and out of instinct he caught them. "It's your bike, keep it."

But that wasn't what Shadow meant. He was just lost at words, he couldn't stop thinking about the look on Amy's face.

He could handle the disappointment of everyone, their hate.

But he couldn't think of a single day he could live with Amy's disappointment on him.

"She has changed!" Shadow screamed at Amy making her stop in her tracks.

"This past week ... We went away together and she swore to me-"

"I don't want to hear it," Amy said, her back still facing Shadow.

"Can't you just be happy for me?" The sentence came out of Shadow's mouth. He didn't mean for it to sound rude, but his desperation at not making Amy feel better overtook him.

"Why should I be happy when I know you are just going to end up hurting yourself?" Amy's voice cracked as she found it more difficult to keep her composure.

"Because that's what friends do ... don't they?"

"I would have supported you Shadow," Amy added, "Anyone but her."

"You better than anyone should understand." Shadow walked towards Amy, he wanted to have contact with her but restrain himself from touching her. "I would have been happy for you if you were to date Sonic ... even if I despise that bastard."

Amy was quiet as if she wanted him to continue.

"Can't you understand? ... If you could, you would drop everything and go away with him. Wouldn't you?" Shadow added, he placed his hand on Amy's shoulder as he tried to look at her reaction. "It's the same for me-"

Amy turned around and slapped his hand away from her shoulder.

Finally, angry tears came out of her eyes and Shadow could 't handle it. It seemed like magic almost. That even when with tears dropping from her eyes, Amy was still holding up together.

While watching her cry only made Shadow break.

"No ... I wouldn't...I did stay for you Shadow." Amy gave one last look at the black hedgehog. "Think about that."

.

It must have passed a while since Shadow was left standing on the parking lot.

The sun was already setting and he was still there and would have stayed if it wasn't because Maria went to check on him.

"So, she gave you the bike," Maria said as she broke Shadow's trance. "Even after you practically beg me to give it back."

Shadow looked at Maria leaning on the bike's seat and Shadow felt the urge to move her away.

He secretly didn't want anyone but him and Amy on the bike but he wasn't going to say that to his girlfriend.

"I am hungry ..." Maria interrupted again, "Can you get us something to eat?"

.

Amy didn't feel like doing anything. It was already night time and wanted to go to the Resistance already and sleep.

She finished her night shift at the new restaurant she was working at. She left the restaurant tired and was about to walk away until she noticed the blue bur waiting for her outside the restaurant.

Sonic got closer to the pink one and so did she. It was a bit chilly and Amy covered her arms, trying to protect herself from the cold.

Sonic noticed this and he took out his blue and white jacket and put it on Amy. She gladly accepted the gesture.

She looked at him in the eyes, and he immediately knew that she wasn't feeling the best.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" He asked and smiled at her. She nodded, she loved the way he could understand her without her having to say much.

.

She had to admit that she loved the safety he gave her whenever he carried her.

They ended up walking down the city, just chatting and talking about themselves. It was a relief for Amy however. She had a few hours she didn't have to think about Shadow.

They were now outside the Resistance, Sonic wanted to make sure that Amy returned home safe.

"We are here."

"Yes..."

Sonic hated the sad look Amy had in her eyes. He wanted to restrain himself from asking but he wanted to help her in any way possible.

"You know you can tell me anything ... Right?" Sonic softly asked as he grabbed Amy's hand. It was quiet but the sound of passing cars and the chatter of the people interrupted that.

"Shadow..."

Sonic stopped breathing for a second. The way she uttered Shadow's name made him freeze. Her tone was hurt but loving as well.

Sonic waited for Amy to continue, waiting for the whole story.

"He is just so stupid,"

Sonic sighed, relieved that they both agreed on something. He sighed heavily, for a slight moment he was scared that Amy was going to confess her intimate feelings about Shadow.

He didn't know what he had done, and right now he didn't care. He just cared about the pink hedgehog who was standing in front of him.

Although she looked tired, her beauty still made a presence. The moonlight only made her shine, almost goddess-like and Sonic found himself chanting love songs in his head.

However, he took into consideration Amy's feelings as well. "I know Shadow most have done something to upset you but Amy..."

Amy looked into Sonic's eyes and it was that moment that Sonic knew he couldn't stop himself from asking.

"We can talk about that later ... I know this is going to be selfish of me." Sonic added, "But I am scared I am going to lose my courage if I let this moment go."

"What are you talking about?" asked Amy.

Her confusion was extremely cute to Sonic and he placed his face closer to Amy, closing his eyes as he did so.

"Can I ... kiss you?"

Sonic waited for Amy to respond and a few seconds passed and Sonic felt embarrased. He was about to pull away from her face but Amy surprised him with her lips touching his. They were small kisses and Sonic thought that it was the most adorable thing he could ever experience. This was probably Amy's first kiss and Sonic smiled between the kisses at the realization of it.

When Amy pulled away and saw Sonic's dumb look on his face; she felt warmness raise to her cheeks.

Sonic came back to reality as he held Amy's hand. "Now, do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"

She nodded and held his hand tightly with hers. The Resistance's doors opened. As they walked in, Amy smiled at Sonic, happy at the kindness and tenderness he was showing her.            

Even if it was just a temporary thing, Amy felt happy that she didn't have to be alone tonight.

.

Shadow never thought that he did find himself racing motorcycles again. His mind was clouded with anger, as he threw into the trash the red roses he had boughten for Amy.

He texted Maria that he was going to be late and to order some Chinese food to be delivered at the apartment.

Now, he was racing some guys that took interest in his bike.

The deal was simple, whoever gets out of the forest first wins.

Whoever wins, would take the bike of the loser as a prize.

Now, Shadow's talents were to the test. This wasn't a simple race through the park. Now there were multiple obstacles he had to evade to win. Pine trees everywhere, bushes, holes in the ground, bumps; without mentioning that he was racing guys who spent all their lives in motorcycles.

Shadow liked the challenge and right now it was what he needed. Just to forget what he saw before.

But he just couldn't.

He couldn't forget the tender kisses Amy gave Sonic as he passed by the Resistance.

He wanted to ask her for forgiveness, but she was too busy giving affection to Sonic that she didn't realize he was there. With red roses in his hands, ready to talk things out.

He accelerated more as he noticed that one of the motorcyclists was ahead of him.

He began to worry as more approached behind him, quickly gaining more speed.

He couldn't afford to lose his bike. Not this bike, not DR. He had already lost Amy ... he couldn't afford to lose the only thing that attached him to her.

He kept speeding and successfully went ahead of the motorcyclists but his mistake was that he looked back.

His mistake ... was to look back.

He crashed against a pine tree and the pain that came with it reminded him of memories.

Looking back brought him pain, taking into consideration past things that shouldn't have been involved in his future pained him.

He was bleeding and he swore he had broken a rib or two.

It was exactly what he wanted. To feel this pain again.

But he began to growl the moment he realized that the pain he was feeling couldn't compare to the pain he felt when he saw Amy with Sonic, entering the Resistance with the most loving look in their eyes.

He lied to himself and to Amy. He had told her, he would be happy if she was with Sonic.

So why couldn't he?

Shadow sighed as he heard the motorcyclists go past him, a few minutes went by and he realized that the situation he was in was different from the ones he had been in before.

The first time he crashed was because he saw Maria with someone else.

And someone was there for him.

The second time he crashed, Amy was there for him.

And now Shadow found himself completely alone.

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A/N: We are getting into the good stuff now uh?

Next: Soon.

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 35)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV 2, 21 , 22, Vivi POV 2, 24, 25  Lewis POV 3,  Mystery POV , Vivi POV 3, 29, Lewis POV 4, 31, ViVi POV 4 , 33, 34

Part 36: here

.

LEWIS POV:

Whereas he barely felt the knife stabbing into him, Lewis definitely feels it come out. It doesn’t help that the thing pretending to be Arthur seems to be going out of its way to cause as much pain as possible. And yes, there is a lot of pain. Even with a whole lot of adrenaline smoothing over the worst of it, it is probably the worst thing Lewis has ever experienced. It briefly whites out his vision, so he almost misses Arthur as he steps out of the torchlight. What Lewis does see, in amongst the white spots, is that twisted uncanny smile, smug and self-assured. Nothing like any expression he has seen Arthur make before. It’s all wrong.

Lewis doesn’t remember kneeling, but he must have because suddenly Vivi is crouched in front of him, supporting his weight, preventing from face-planting into the concrete. Quickly, she ties her scarf around his side.

“I’m fine,” He mutters, trying to wave her away, “Go after Arthur.”

“You’ve been stabbed,” Vivi objects, frustrated, adding, “…and I can’t,” blue eyes meeting his before flicking over to Mystery who is blocking her way. The dog is glowing red, and his growls make Lewis’s neck prickle with unease despite not being the target. Right. Because, not only is Arthur possessed by that thing, but Mystery is a supernatural whatever as well. If he weren’t in so much pain, the revelation would be more impactful.

His next words are drowned out by another louder shout.

“ALRIGHT ASSHOLE…STOP RIGHT THERE!”

Both he and Vivi turn. Lewis stares openly at the middle-aged man who seems to have materialised from the gloom, holding a shotgun that moves between all three of them, landing on Arthur.

“Nobody move.” Is ordered in a tone consisting of visibly uncontained rage which doesn’t bode well in the slightest. Just when Lewis thinks they are done with the nasty surprises, another one comes crawling from the woodwork. Lewis struggles to stand so he’s ready to run if need be, his side throbs with a spike of intense pain.

The man, Lewis vaguely recognises him but, with the darkened surroundings, he is hard to really place, addresses Vivi, “Never heard of Arthur huh?”

Vivi stiffens, and Lewis realises, with a quick note of leather clothing, that this must be the leather-wearing crazy guy from earlier. Though, given the circumstances, perhaps he isn’t as crazy as initially thought.

“Good thing I didn’t believe yah now isn’t. You kids are in some real shit,” The man glowers past them, “I finally got ya. Nowhere to run now.”

“I’m sorry. Have we met? You human’s all look alike,” The body snatcher, Lewis refuses to think of this thing as Arthur, sounds mildly irritated.

“You fucking know who I am!”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself.” Lewis recognises one of his chef knives as it is waved around flippantly.

“Sonofabitch. You’re going to regret messing with…”

“Hold it. Wait…” The body snatcher interrupts, clicking its fingers, “I remember. Wait. No…I’ve lost it. Maybe give me a hint?”

The man’s face twists into a snarl of furry, “Slimy rat-bastard…If you think for one…”

“Oh! I’ve got it! Mickey. No. Micky. Yes. Apologies. You were such a useless, forgettable host that it completely slipped my mind.” If the body snatcher is trying to make the other man mad, it is succeeding. Worried, Lewis observes the livid expression on the gunman’s face. Even in the dark, the rage is very apparent.

“How is that gunshot wound treating you? It looks infected.”

“How about I give you a matching one, and you can tell me all about it!?”

“Tch,” Arthur’s green eyes narrow losing some of their humour. Then, seemingly addressing none of the people present, it comments, “And this is exactly why leaving hosts alive always backfires.”

Before, when the creature had been supposedly conversing with Mystery, it had made clear eye-contact with the dog. Now, it gestures loosely into the middle distance. It’s talking to Arthur, he realises, and it simultaneously fills him with hope and makes him sick to the stomach.

“They all get this notion in their head that it’s my fault their pathetic lives went down the toilet. And then it’s all ‘you’ll pay for this’ and whatnot.” It turns Arthur’s eyes back to Micky, “I suppose you’re still mad about your brother. Dan was it?”

“Don’t say you dare say his name!”

“Dan? Short for Daniel? The most promising exorcist in three generations and far better than you could ever be? That Daniel? …Maybe if you’d been even half of what he was, you wouldn’t have been possessed so damn easily. I mean, this kid put up more of a fight, and he’s pretty much a walking collection of neurosis.’”

“I said shut the fuck up!”

“Did you even go back to bury him, or did you just leave him there? What happened to all the ritual, funeral nonsense to send his soul on its merry way? How disrespectful.”

The gun clicks. It’s like it wants to get shot! Lewis feels Vivi tense beside him and knows that she has come to the same conclusion.

“Stop!” Vivi lurches uprights, trying and failing to dodge around Mystery. “If you shoot, you’ll kill Arthur!”

“That fucking brat sent us to our deaths. He’s just as guilty.”

The body snatcher sniggers, “I’m sure Dan would be very unimpressed at how you’re threatening this poor innocent human. I mean, if he weren’t a shish-kebab at the bottom of a cave.”

A loud, almost animalistic, yell. In the fraction of an instant before the gun goes off, Arthur’s body lurches to the right. For a moment, it looks like Arthur might manage to dodge. Lewis’s breath catches.

Crack.

The gun fires. Arthur flickers. It is as if, for a split second, there are two people overlayed atop each other. If the body snatcher is planning to dodge, protecting both itself and Arthur, it fails, stumbling, visibly hurt.

Next, there is an explosion of energy, briefly lighting the space with ominous red. From the flash leaps a giant canid creature with many lashing tails, obstructing his view. The gunman, obviously just as surprised by its appearance, turns wildly, aiming the gun at the new threat. A second shot discharges with another loud crack, point-blank, right into second monster’s chest. The giant- Lewis thinks it might be a fox- doesn’t falter, slamming into the gun-wielding maniac, jaws closing on the weapon.

“Arthur!” Vivi’s voice snaps his attention back to Arthur. Lewis is not sure where the bullet has hit but the way the body snatcher’s face twists, spitting to itself, “You little shit,” before toppling over backwards, means it hit somewhere. He struggles to follow Vivi, who has already run forward, ignoring how his side burns and his breath is more laboured than it should be. Lewis hurries up to his prone friend, spotting the quickly spreading stain of red on Arthur’s left shoulder.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Vivi mutters, “Bleeding…that’s a lot of blood. Need to control the bleeding.” She pulls off her shirt, placing it over the wound, pressing down. Arthur’s eyes snap open, bright green, focusing on Vivi and then on him. They flicker to golden-brown.

“Arthur?” Vivi breaths, also noticing the change.

“Vi…”

“Shh. Don’t speak. Everything will be okay. I don’t think its hit anything important. Just lie still.”

Gold flickers to green again, and Arthur grins, “What’s…up. You…goin…watch him die …with me?” The words get chocked off when the gold returns. The smiles twists into something more pained. Lewis leans in as Arthur tries to speak again.

“No.” Vivi puts out a hand, leaving a red mark on his shirt, “Don’t make skin contact.”

Green and gold flicker again, so fast that the two colours bleed into each other like coloured ink running together. “Even if …you save him…I’ll be here. You’ll never get me out…He’ll be mine for…” It’s the body snatcher, struggling to form words as blood trickles out the corner of Arthur’s mouth.

“Don’t talk,” Vivi snaps. The hand nearest to him twitches, trying to touch her wrist. But the blood loss has made it slow and lethargic, allowing Vivi to draw away.

“Lewis, hold his arm down so it doesn’t try to grab me. I need to keep pressure on this. Do you have your phone on you? We need to call for help, like an ambulance, and….”

Vivi’s instructions wash over him as he stares at the hand then back at Arthur. If they do save Arthur, then they would be right back to where they started, with this thing piloting around his friend’s body. Probably, hurting Arthur in the process because he can’t imagine that it’s a present experience. Lewis takes his phone from his back pocket and places in on the ground.

“Lew…is.” It’s Arthur again, barely managing to speak, breathing hard as Vivi pushes down, stemming the worst of the flow. Even the two words sound so defeated and sad. Lewis can’t just do nothing. Not when he can save Arthur from this thing. In that moment, in the seconds between Arthur’s breathing and the sounds of fighting behind him, Lewis reaches to take Arthur’s hand.

“Look after Arthur.” He orders. Vivi makes a brief noise of objection, but it is too late.

Skin against skin.

Arthur’s hand is unnaturally cold.

There is a sharp pain in his palm which travels up the limb. Quickly, he lurches upright, stumbling two steps back to get as far away from Vivi and Arthur as possible. A portion of his arm begins to turn a sickly green, which travels up towards his shoulder. Arthur, the real Arthur, is now the picture of horror.

“W…hy?” His friend coughs. Lewis finds he can’t respond, body frozen. Slowly, green creeps, inching along, making his skin crawl.

Then, a heavy weight hits him from behind, causing him to stagger. Jaws and sharp teeth clamp down around his upper arm, halting the green. One large, red eye stares at him, almost apologetic. As if moving in slow motion, Lewis sees the fox bite and hears the crunch of bone splintering. Blood droplets spin hypnotically in the air.

It is probably fortunate that, right then, Lewis is yanked back and away. If he can’t handle the pain of a stab wound, he can’t imagine enjoying the sensation of having his arm ripped apart. This is what Lewis thinks while he falls into deeper, more complete darkness.

He is falling, nothingness surrounding him. He is falling right up until he isn’t.

Above him, a ceiling fades into view. Confused, he blinks at the pale grey roof overhead. Is he dead? He doesn’t feel dead. Hurriedly, Lewis sits upright, grasping for his arm. It is still there, attached to his shoulder, no worse for wear. Except, Lewis’s eyes widen, watching the limb flicker, disappearing then reappearing. He can feel it and move it, but when he stares at it for too long, it doesn’t seem real. Transparent.

“…have known… too good to be true….It’s always too good to be true…” The irritated voice, though muffled, is familiar. Lewis twists, searching for its source, finding himself on the floor of a grey-coloured version of the Kingsman workshop. However, unlike Kingsman Mechanics, which was always alive with activity and the sound of machinery, everything here is still and eerily silent. Through the open garage doors, instead of the Tempo desert, Lewis sees an expanse of endless grey void. Across the floor and ceiling spreads several jagged cracks like the room is seconds from falling to pieces.

“…there was no way in any of the hells that some punk human would get away with breaking The Rules and not have it blow up in their stupid face...”

Leaning against the workbench, a few feet away, is Arthur. Only, it’s not Arthur. The skin is tinted green, not unlike his arm in those brief moments before Lewis was pulled down here.

“…and I just got suckered in like some witless porn.” Growling, kicking the bench irritably, not-Arthur grumbles, “What a waste of potential.”

Slowly, Lewis tries to climb to his feet without catching its attention. He is unsuccessful because, no sooner has he moved, its eyes snap to him. Now, instead of bright green, they are flecked with golden yellow.

“Hello Lewis,” It greets in a voice so like Arthur’s that it grates on Lewis’s ears. A larger crack appears across the ceiling, lengthening, almost splitting the room in half. Grey dust rains down around them, and the room shakes.

“Nice of you to stop by, even if it is for a few seconds. I was so looking forward to possessing you too. It really is a shame.”

Lewis glares at the twisted, mock version of his friend, who, despite everything, is still grinning. Now his mind is no longer muddled with the pain of a stab wound, there is new mounting anger. He clenches a fist.

“What’s the matter big guy? Had a rough day? Not often you get stabbed by your best friend now is it?”

Lewis should be scared. This thing has made it apparent that it didn’t give two shits about killing him. Hell, this bastard had stabbed him. Lewis glances briefly at his side. There is no wound to be seen. In his mind’s eye, he sees the last few minutes flash past. He can see Arthur, in pain. His best friend had looked so defeated. Somehow he knows it is this things fault. Everything until now, all the supernatural weirdness and confusion, this thing is at the centre of it all. No, Lewis isn’t scared. He's furious.

"There's the Lewis I was waiting to see. None of that sentimental concerned crap…only anger,” The fake-Arthur grins wider, noting his rage.

"This is your fault." He snaps in lieu of a proper come-back, taking an aggressive step forward clenching and unclenching his fist. "What did you do to Arthur.”

“Hehe, still more worried about Arthur? You really should adjust your priorities, considering there is a high chance that my removal will kill you. Losing an arm isn’t pretty.”

Lewis twitches. The rage builds. It builds in waves, expanding to fill his chest and, before he knows it, he’s across the room, picking the fake-Arthur up by the shirt, and slamming into a wall. There is no real-Arthur here to hold him back. He wants to wipe that smile off its face and make it pay for all the stress and hurt it has forced on all of them in the last few days.

“What happened to Arthur!”

A scoff of contempt. “Nothing happened to Artie, aside from getting shot, he’s back in his body. All he had to do was sit back and not interfere, but instead, he got in the way like the suicidal little shit he is. I’d watch out for that, your friend is a real basket case.”

Lewis sees fire and red. He slams the creature against the wall, causing new cracks to form and spread like a spider web. It feels unevenly satisfying to hurt this creature. It feels good right up until the body snatcher turns its face into something that looks almost exactly like Arthur. No smug smile. Just pain. If it weren’t for the green skin, Lewis might have believed it.

“So willing to hurt Arthur. You’re giving me goosebumps.”

His grip falters. “You’re not Arthur,” He retorts.

“No. But I look like him.  Not that that matters when assigning blame. No wonder Arthur is scared of you.”

His anger simmers down into something more akin to apprehension. Before, outside his family diner, the demon had said something about knowing the truth behind Arthur’s reason for avoiding him. What did this thing know?

Lewis grits his teeth, "I didn't do anything to Arthur. I couldn’t of. It must be something else. Another variable." That’s what Vivi said, and she is right. Why does it sound like he's trying to convince himself now?

"Is that what you think, or is that what our good friend Vivi thinks? She's smart, I'll give you that, a real catch, but you can't rely on her for everything. You have to make your own decisions based on what you want. You know Arthur is scared. You saw it. Pure fear."

The body snatcher gives him a shove in the chest, forcing Lewis to drop the other to the floor. Tense, he watches it spend a moment straitening its shirt in a very Arthur-like move. Suddenly, he feels very guilty despite knowing this was only a replica of his friend.

It grins again, glancing up, “I can show you, you know. I have Arthur’s memories. I can leave them behind before I’m forced to leave." More cracks are appearing now, covering every surface like one half of the room is about to fall away. Deliberately, fake-Arthur leans towards him, “What do you say?”

“Arthur will tell me the truth when he’s ready.” Lewis wants to object further but finds the words stuck.

It laughs, an unpleasant sound, full of malice, “Not if he thinks the truth will hurt you. He’ll continue lying for forever if he thinks it’ll protect you. Besides, you might die right now, so Arthur might not even get the chance. Then you’ll never know.”

Uneasy, Lewis swallows, realising that it is right. Arthur would lie to protect him and Vivi. It is probably the reason why he’d been lying for the last few weeks.  Lewis frowns down at the ground, breaking eye contact, trying to work through what he actually wants and not liking the answer. Its got him. Despite knowing that having Arthur’s memories is a bad idea that it will cause more harm than good, he finds he doesn’t care.

"Well, do you want the truth or not? Quickly now, I don't have a lot of time here."

Why is Arthur scared? He needs to know why. He desperately needs to know.

“I want to know.” He says it before he can really help it.

One elongated step and the body snatcher is suddenly close, acting before Lewis can change his mind. He attempts to move back, but the body snatcher is reaching up, grabbing his collar, yanking him down to eye level, “Good choice.”

Lewis instinctively pulls back, but the faker's eyes swirl hypnotically, shifting to a more potent green, holding him in place.

"It’s been nice talking, I think I’m beginning to see why Arthur’s so damn obsessed with you, so much delicious internal conflict...but alas our time is up.”

The walls around them crumble, splintering apart.

“It may be a day, a year or even a few decades, but I’ll be back so we’ll meet again. That's a promise."

The workshop dissolves.

"Until then, enjoy Arthur’s memories. And remember, you wanted this."

..

Note: Lewis joins Arthur in the pit of bad decisions. 

Part 36: here