#finding out was like getting hit on the head by an anvil

[sunflowergamer6]

CHUCK TINGLE IS ON TUMBLR?!?!?!?!?

[the-californicationist]

Guile & Guilt (Ch. 05)

MDNI/18+ no exceptions

Link to AO3

THE NEXT MORNING

You were alone. The sun’s thin shafts danced across the empty side of the bed, the sheets crinkled and folded like unfinished origami, bent and twisted by the body you were missing. He was gone. You yawned, stretching, and then you froze in place, suddenly remembering more and more detail from the night before. 

Johnny’s touch lingered on your skin like a bruise. You were unmarred, but you could have sworn he had left a tattoo behind with his fingertips so acutely did you feel the memory. 

You padded out into the kitchen. It was still closer to dawn than it was to day, but on the counter sat two large coffees; a latte and a chai, for Pidge and for you. There was a note tucked underneath your cup:

Gone for a run. - J. 

Chai in hand, you quietly retreated to his room and sat in bed watching the sun wake up. The feel of the smooth sheets on your fingers bring back brief, blurred flashes of Johnny’s affection from the night before, and the guilt hit your stomach like an anvil. You should have stopped him, shouldn’t you? You had plenty of time to. But, said the dark thing inside of you, you didn’t want him to stop, did you?

You wanted him to keep going. 

Setting your drink down, you snuggled back into the covers to wallow in your regret. But instead, your body forced you back into the darkness where you and Johnny had been tangled as you slept in that very position. If you shut your eyes, you could almost feel his soft breaths and his hungry jaw as he scented your neck and hair. The heat of his chest radiated through your back, and the prodding…

It was your fingers that dipped into your waistband this time, thinner than his, but warm from the coffee cup, until they found your pink, wet shame. You drew quick circles around your clit, not far from the high you were chasing. 

You thought about what would have happened if you hadn’t said his name. Would he have continued? He was caught somewhere between a dream and reality; you were still working on convincing yourself of that. 

But, what if he wasn’t?

You moaned softly into the pillow. It smelled of him and you breathed it in. You touched yourself with renewed intensity, your fingers sliding across your slippery skin, sinking into your hole for more of your warm honeyed heat. 

Maybe he would have begged you, softly, in that deep voice of his. 

Just let me feel it, thief, just for a moment. Just the tip. I’ll pull it right out, lass, I swear it. I just need to feel you. 

And all those other saccharine lies that boys like him were good at crafting. But, gods, would you fall for it. You’d nod your head, dumb and cowed, and spread yourself wide for him to find, to fit, to fill. The sound of him wetting his cock in you would have been so loud in his quiet room.

You moaned again, louder this time, unable to hold it back.

“Are you alright, lass?”

Shit!

You pulled yourself together. Two soft knocks on the door and your hand involuntarily jerked back, the snap of the elastic waistband stinging your skin. You fixed yourself and dragged the sheets over you again, panting quietly to hide the deeper gasps trying to crawl out of your lungs.

“Yeah, fine. How was your run?”

Taking the question as an invitation, the door cracked open and his hulking form emerged from behind it. His hair and shirt damp with sweat, smile widening as his eyes wandered across your body in his bed.

“It was good. You ready for your fitting? I’m your ride.”

You ignored that double entendre. 

“Sure, just let me get changed,” you smiled, pulling your legs around to stand beside the bed.

“Aye, I’ll shower,” he shut the door behind him. 

You let go of a huge sigh of relief and put your head in your hands. If he had walked in…

You shook it off and got changed as quick as you could. You threw your hair into a quick braid and knotted the end with a hair tie. You were still in one of his tee shirts, but you had put some leggings on with a pair of white sneakers. You reminded yourself - over and over and over - that you weren’t there to impress anyone. Especially not Johnny MacTavish. 

He was in the kitchen with Hamish and Pidge when you came out, drinking coffee with them over the counter and chatting about their plans. Pidge greeted you, hugging you around the neck,

“Okay, dovie. Remember, I don’t care how the top looks. But, it’s floor length, and it’s glitz and it’s glam and it’s sparkles…”

“I remember! Silver sparkles. Red carpet. Don’t worry, I can handle it,” you tried to sound convincing. 

Hamish laughed, trying to make Pidge seem like she was over-reacting, “I’m not worried, lass. I know you’ll pick a brilliant one.”

Pidge cut her eyes at him and said, “I’m not worried . But, she’s like me - we love our comfy clothes. She’s not Cherise who has to be in the latest whatever.”

Hamish pinched Pidge in some unseen place below the kitchen counter and out of your view, teasing her,

“Bet you’d look good in the latest whatever .”

Pidge squealed and smacked him for his insubordination. She turned to you, blushing and trying not to laugh,

“Okay, back here at two, yeah? We��ve got 259 invites to stamp. Fuckin’ postage is gonna break the bank.”

“Back at two. Invites. I am on it. Maid of honor mode is activated, babe. I promise,” you hugged her and turned to Johnny, “Are you ready?”

“For glitz and glam? Always,” his grin was sharp and inviting, as if dress shopping was his one true purpose and pleasure in life, even if it couldn’t have been further from the truth. 

The dress shop was close, and you noted that Johnny didn’t try to hold your hand in the car as he had yesterday. You didn’t dwell on it. Okay, maybe you did. 

“D’ya sleep alright, thief?” He asked over the radio during a lull where he wasn’t signing shamelessly.

His face didn’t give away much. You couldn’t tell whether he was recalling his lurid affections or just making small talk. You decided not to take the bait,

“Just fine. How about you?”

“Slept hard,” he grinned, searching for a parking spot, “Like a rock, aye?”

When he made his last comment, the obvious innuendo, he looked at you through his sunglasses, staring long enough to watch you flush. You avoided his gaze, looking at anything but him, feeling his eyes roaming over you. Your heart beat in your throat. 

Johnny killed the engine and walked around to help you down from the Jeep, giving you his hand to steady you. It was warm and sure, none of his rakish commentary or teasing was left in his touch, just comforting sincerity. It was scary how quick your mind was to trust his earnestness and dismiss his roguishness. 

The dress shop door knocked a small bell that tinkled as you walked through, announcing your arrival. No one was at the counter, so you looked around for a moment, waiting for someone to appear. 

“Hello?” You called out into the store. 

“Aye! Coming!” A tower of white lace ruffled and danced as someone moved behind it. Then, a short red woman emerged from the pile, pink-faced and out of breath,

“Och! Thought I’d drown in there.”

She laughed and you smiled with her, explaining your presence,

“I’m here for - ”

“The Hamilton wedding, aye? I’d recognize this rascal anywhere. You can always tell a MacTavish by the eyes. Bluer than the sky, they are.”

“Mrs. Dulvaney! Gonna make me get all sweet on ye, more than I already do,” Johnny pushed his sunglasses up over his mohawk and bent to kiss the woman on her big cheeks, kissing her hand as if she was Guinevere. 

Based on her reaction, that was exactly how she felt. She turned to you,

“Better watch out for this one, lovie. Nothin’ but trouble.”

“Don’t I know it,” you commented wryly, earning a look from Johnny. 

The shopkeeper led you past rows of cream and ivory wedding gowns to the bridesmaid section in the back of the store. One of the dressing rooms’ curtains was open, and several gowns were hanging, sparkly and orderly on their rack. The old woman smiled, explaining, 

“Bridgette put all of her hens in silver sparkles, right? I pulled a few, but you’re welcome to look around. Don’t fret about the sizes, dearie. We’ll just pin you in.”

Mrs. Dulvaney was gone again, leaving you with Mr. Nothin-But-Trouble. He flipped through the pulled offerings with a discerning eye, looking like he knew exactly what he was doing, giving Michael Kors a run for his money. 

You left Johnny behind, wandering through the rows of dresses, pulling one or two more pieces, opting for more conservative necklines. 

“No, no, lass,” he furrowed his brow as he inspected your haul, “Sure these are for wee grannies! Shoulder pads, honestly?”

“Okay, fashion police,” you scoffed, “You find a good one, and I promise I’ll try it on.”

“You’re on, thief.”

He dug deep into the stacks, choosing two or three to drape over his thick forearm while you watched, a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth at his serious expression.

Turning at the end of the aisle, he came to a sudden stop.

"Och, sin an tè," he said with a sigh.

It was hanging on a mannequin, but he didn’t care. He looked at the mannequin and then back at your body, sizing you up. Then, he put his hands around the plastic girl’s waist, and eyed you up once more before smirking knowingly and reaching for the zipper.. 

“Johnny, you can’t have the display,” You chastised him, imagining his hands on your ribs as they had been in the small pool in the mountains, imagining him digging into your clothes as they had last night.  

“Says who?” He began to undress her, pulling the shining fabric up over her headless form. Smug and satisfied, he handed you the gown. 

It fit all the criteria; glittery and slinky, floor-length with a high neckline. But, there was no back. From neck to hip, you’d be bare. 

“Johnny,” you protested, holding it up by the shoulders and letting it cascade heavily to the floor, “This might be…distracting.”

“Aye,” he said, giving no further explanation, his eyes glued to the gown in your hands. 

You sighed, but you kept your word. Johnny was sat in a plush chair like a king after much doting and prodding from the shopkeeper. He was facing the fitting room, which was little more than a closet with a curtain. You shimmied into the room and tried on the first dress that Mrs. Dulvaney had suggested. 

When you emerged, they were both sitting there, appraising you like judges on a game show, their faces reflecting boredom and disappointment.

“So…” you shrugged, looking at yourself in the mirror. You looked like an Elvis impersonator. 

Johnny and Mrs. Dulvaney shook their heads in the mirror. 

You retreated and tried on the next one. This version had poofy sleeves.

“Oh!” Mrs. Dulvaney couldn’t contain her amusement as you came out of the dressing room. 

Johnny did not endeavor to control his disgusted expression,

“Creepin’ Jesus! You look like if 1982 was a person, lass. Back in the room with you, mhèirleach! Christ Almighty.”

You shucked off the offending gown and went through the stack. You decided to try on Johnny’s choice, just to shut him up. 

It fit like a glove. You didn’t really have the body for slinky gowns like this, but it was as if someone had cut it just for you. The glittery overlay gleamed across a sheer slip, the same color as your skin, making it seem as if all you were wearing were the sparkles themselves. The high collar sat proudly at the base of your neck, and when you turned to see your back in the mirror, you were stunned by how you looked. Pretty. 

You swallowed your nervousness and heard Johnny protest,

“You stuck in there, lass? C’mon. Can’t be that bad. Nothing’s as bad as the last one.”

He was laughing as you came out of the room, but when he saw you, he stopped. It was as if you were controlling time itself, and he was frozen in it. Johnny rose to his feet as if to greet you, and the shopkeeper’s eyebrows raised, looking at him and you with a coy smile on her face.

When she realized he wasn’t going to say anything, Mrs. Dulvaney commented,

“My word, lovie. Suits you perfectly, it does.”

“Aye…” Johnny agreed, his voice barely a whisper as his eyes swept down your body and back up again, studying every inch. 

You smiled, turning in the larger mirror to view the back again,

“Should probably choose one that doesn’t show quite so much skin, perhaps.”

“The front is modest enough, and you could wear your hair down,” the shopkeeper suggested. 

Johnny moved toward you as if compelled. He reached over your shoulder for your braid and, ever so gently, pulled your hair tie from it, letting the locks loosen and tumble across your back. 

You thought he might step back to get a better view, but he stayed close, right over your shoulder, even going so far as to put a hand on your hip, standing behind you in the mirror, just like two portraits in a frame, his enormous form shielding you from the room. It was just you and him in the mirror, as if you were the only two people in the world. 

He stared into your eyes through the looking glass, and you met him there, waiting for his approval. He smiled, a bit shy and out of character,

“Look at you, mo mhèirleach. Stunning.”

You sighed, relieved,

“Well, if it’s not a thousand pounds, I’ll take it.”

Mrs. Dulvaney looked at Johnny before looking back at you,

“Oh, I’m sorry. He already paid for it. I thought… my mistake.”

“Johnny! How much do I owe you?”

He grinned hard enough to make the skin on his nose wrinkle together,

“Don’t listen to her, Mrs. Dulvaney. She likes to carry on sometimes.”

“Hey! I can’t - I don’t want to owe you,” you protested.

“Why?” He spun you around, still holding your hip, “Think I’ll cash it in? Enough of that, thief. You’re starting to sound like my sister.”

“How much did it cost?” You pressed, staring up into those famed blues as bravely as you dared. 

His eyes softened, unwilling to war with you,

“You’ve been takin’ care of Pigeon while I’ve been away, and don’t say you haven’t. I know Hamish didn’t fix that leak in the sink. The man’s keen, but he’s no handyman. I dinnae ken just how much you’ve been doing for her until I was here this summer, but I ken it now. So, pull your fangs out of me, thief. Let me pay my own debt, aye?”

Confidently, his hand came up to cradle your cheek, resting against your jaw, smoothing over your skin like wet clay, molding you just so. You leaned into it, forgetting yourself, forgetting the shop, forgetting your promise. 

Mrs. Dulvaney reminded you,

“Ahem, shall I get you a wee box?”

“Aye, thank you, love,” Johnny told her, releasing you to get changed. He followed the older woman to the front desk, tactical black in a sea of white lace.

You couldn’t form a coherent thought; it was only Johnny in all of your senses, but you saw your hair tie wrapped around his wrist, and you didn’t have the heart to ask for it back. 

He carried the box for you and put it in the boot, securing it under some of his gear. 

“Right,” he slammed the back door and leaned over the edge of his huge tire to stare at you, “That’s sorted. Lunch?”

You smiled,

“Alright, as long as we’re back before two.”

He let out an exasperated sigh,

“Don’t worry, lass. I remember the rules.”

You hopped back in the Jeep for a short drive. Winding roads and arching hills followed you just outside of town. He pulled over into what looked like an empty gravel patch and helped you down again. 

He didn’t let go of your hand this time. Able to sense your hesitation through the rigidity of your grip, he grinned down at you, squeezing your palm tighter,

“I said I remembered them, not that I agreed. C’mon, this way.”

There was a small dirt path that led into a small clearing, and just through the tree cover you could see the beginnings of an ancient ruin. Broken stone walls and reinforced edges gave way to a sprawling castle. 

You gasped,

“What? Where has this been hiding?”

His wide smile couldn’t be contained,

“Land of Kings, lass. Cannae go twenty paces without trippin’ over a wee castle or two. This place does the best kebabs, I swear.”

“Kebabs?” You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. 

Off to the side of the ancient ruins, a small food cart sat steaming with its owner, waiting (it seemed) just for you and Johnny to arrive. 

Johnny ordered for you,

“Two lamb and two Iron Brus, please.”

While he waited for the food, you explored a bit, marveling at the old walls, the hints at life, the old fireplace that had half of its chimney still standing. You dared to touch the stones, wondering how many hands had touched the same one before you, wondering if lovers had read sonnets to each other under the eaves of the windows, wondering how many families were born and lived and died among the masonry under your fingertips. 

After a while, Johnny found you and jerked his head for you to follow him, his hands full with your lunch.

He led you to a short wall and sat against it. You sat with him, the grass and clover soft beneath your legs. The view was spectacular. You could see most of the grounds, but you could also see down into the town itself. You watched everyone bustle and hurry along with their lives, driving little cars, carrying little bags, all oblivious to your stolen hour with a man who knew the rules and sought to break them. 

The man passed your food to you and cracked open your soda. You commented on his choices, teasing him,

“Bit presumptuous of you. What if I didn’t like lamb?”

He glared playfully,

“But you do.”

You laughed,

“Okay, you got me. But, how’d you know?”

“They pay me to be observant, lass. And of all the observant bastards, I’m the best at it,” his tone has turned a bit sour, and you wondered why. You pried, gently,

“Do you like it? The…army?” You lacked the vocabulary to have this conversation. 

He took pity on you, smiling softly as he unwrapped his kebab,

“Yeah, I’m good at it. Really good.”

“But do you like it?”

Silence, then a cutting laugh,

“Mm, that’s a hard question, thief.”

You felt like you should apologize, like you shouldn’t have pressed into a bruise that you had no business knowing about. He ate his kebab unbothered, though, and you took another chance,

“Why don’t you want me to call you Soap? Isn’t that your army name?”

Army name? You were kicking yourself for not coming up with something cooler like alias or even call sign. What was wrong with you? 

You thought he might laugh, that he might tease you for calling it something so lame. But, he didn’t. He stopped eating, taking a moment to look out over the vista, the wind blowing through the ends of his hair. He didn’t look at you at first, but he replied,

“I don’t want you to call me that because… well. We were pinned down outside of a warehouse one night. Low on ammo, fuckin’ air strike got held back, out of options, ye ken? We could either hold tight and pray the fuckers didn’t find us, or we could make our way through the building. My mate had taken a goddamn bullet to the thigh, so I knew he wasnae waitin’. Cleaned out the whole warehouse on my own. Called me Soap. Not a speck of dirt left alive.”

It was your turn to be silent. The grass wasn’t as soft. The wind, once a gentle breeze, now overwhelmed you. There was an aimlessness to the quaint movements of the townsfolk down below you, a desperation. 

You reached out your hand and found his. Perhaps he would pull away, shying from the salve of your touch, but he didn’t. He clutched at you, and you kissed the top of his shoulder experimentally, suddenly full of pluck in your imaginary little kingdom,

“Johnny it is, then.”

“Thank you,” he nuzzled the crown of your head and planted a kiss of his own. 

The guilt was still there, haunting you in the shadows, but Johnny’s abject disregard for it had made it small and dulled its teeth. Selfishly, you ignored it while you were in this dreamscape, these ruins, where you were hidden. 

You finished lunch and made it back to the car, holding hands through the castle walls as you walked, a thousand years too late to be its lord and lady. Johnny asked about your writing and your poems, and you told him the simple version. You sang with him on the drive. You made it back before two, untangled your fingers from his, and walked into… a catastrophe.

“Babes! There you are!” Pidge’s face was streaked with tears, “Roger’s got class tomorrow, so we have to finish these bloody invites quickly. We’ve got to get him back to Peggy’s before dark. Och, Christ, if it wasn’t two hours away!”

“Hey,” you grabbed her gently by the arms and glanced up at Johnny, “It’s gonna be okay, Pidge. We’ll take care of it, Johnny and me.”

You hated to see her so distraught. There were only 259 invitations. How hard could it be?

“What?” She looked stunned, “You will? Babes, there’s…”

“Two… hundred… fifty-nine…” Johnny laughed, supporting your decision to swoop in and help, “We know, Pigeon. Take the lad home. Give Peg my love, will ya?”

Hamish came around the corner with two duffel bags,

“What’s going on, love?”

Pidge fought back tears of relief as she filled him in,

“They’re going to do the invites, Hammie.”

“All of them?”

“All of them!” You laughed, interrupting her, “If you need to go, just go. Are you staying the night?”

“Yeah,” Pidge sighed, releasing all of her balled up stress, “We’re going to get her fitted in her dress, pick out jewelry, that sort of thing. Oh, gods! Why do you always save the day?”

She hugged you so tight around your neck that you lost your breath, but you hugged her back and whispered into her hair,

“Because I love you, Pidge.”

“And you know where to drop them off?”

You nodded,

“Yes, go on! We’re fine. Roger,” you shook the boy’s hand, “Nice to see you!” 

Roger smiled and Johnny hugged him and Pidge and swept them out the door. All of the bustle and chaos subsided, turning into quiet silence once again. He turned to you with a strange look on his face,

“What have you done, thief?”

“I think I just said we’d address 259 invitations.”

“Aye,” he pulled his hands down his face and shook his head, “Red or white?”

You furrowed your brow,

“What?”

“Wine, love. ‘Cause fuck doin’ this shite sober.”

SIX HOURS LATER

“249! This calls for a celebration, mhèirleach,” Johnny cried out, reaching for the second half-drunk wine bottle, refilling both of your cups.

You raised your glass and smiled, watching the pink of his cheeks reach his eyes as he laughed with buzzed joy. 

“Ten left,” you sighed, glancing at the clock, “and it only took us… six hours?”

“Christ,” he chuckled, “You and your charity.”

“Forgive me,” you begged, joking with him.

“Always,” his answer was a little more serious than teasing. There was a muted darkness to it that leaned towards suggestiveness. 

You stamped 250 and 251, both shipping all the way to Dublin, apparently. Carefully spelling the names across the top, you stole stray glances at your partner, watching as he licked and sealed the edges of 252 and 253. 

You’d talked about everything under the sun with him while your fingers bled from paper cut after paper cut. You had two bandaids already, and he had fawned over you, making sure they weren’t applied too tight. 

You’d found out a lot about Johnny MacTavish. You learned about his friends, and their funny names. Ghost was a huge Manc with a penchant for masked theatrics on the battlefield. Gaz was a snarky daredevil, and Price was their fearless leader. Hearing about Gaz shooting terrorists upside down from a helicopter was the highlight of your night, and you couldn’t wait to meet them all. 

You’d heard about his father who lost his life in Bosnia doing almost the same job as Johnny, and about how Pidge had taken it very hard. You’d known a little about him, since it was usually difficult conversations about their mom’s lost battle with cancer that was the pressure point. You’d met Pidge two years after her death, so you knew a lot about what the family had been through. But, it was rare for Pidge to bring up her father, and now you knew why. 

Now, it was just Brigette and Johnny, still living together in their childhood home, frozen in time and yet moving at light speed toward their own separate lives. 

You picked up the conversation where it had dropped off, stamping his sealed 253,

“So, Pidge doesn’t want you in your uniform at the ceremony?”

He shook his head dismissively,

“No, she’d come un-fuckin’-glued, she would. I’ve got my kilt, so I’ll be fit, don’t you worry your wee head, thief.”

“I bet you make the kilt look damn good,” you smiled, making a loopy letter L on the next envelope. 

You missed his reaction, focused on your letters, but he had paused and you looked up to watch him. His eyes were wild and bright, staring right at you, caught mid-lick on 255.

He didn’t say anything, but his tight grin was reward enough. 

256, 257, and 258 went by in a quiet blur, and then he held up 259, triumphant. 

He licked it and passed it over to you. You stamped it and tossed it in the box. 

“Holy shit,” you laughed. 

“Aye,” he sighed, getting up and stretching a bit from sitting so long. Your eyes caught the hem of his shirt as it rose above his navel, showing off abs and a dusting of dark fur. 

“You heading out tonight?” You asked, having heard buzz after buzz of notifications on his phone all night long. It was only around eight o’clock; plenty of time for a pub run. 

His eyes narrowed down at you, mid-yawn, 

“No, why would I?”

“Oh,” you shrugged, trying to brush it off as casually as you could, “I just saw Cherise had texted you and -”

“Love,” he waited for you to look up at him, his huge arms bulging as he leaned back against the countertop, staring you down with a white-hot intensity, “If I wanted to be out with Cherise, I’d be out with Cherise.”

He left the counter and walked over to you slowly, sitting in the chair closest to you, pulling both of your bandaged hands into his, staring down into them like he was trying to divine some sort of truth,

“I know Pigeon thinks she knows best, and for a while, she did. Maybe she still does, on some things. But, on this,” he squeezed your hands, “She has no right to decide what I want for myself. And look - I know I’m not…” he scoffed, “ boyfriend material, or whatever the shite, but when I saw you in the kitchen, stealin’ my shirt, drinkin’ out of my mug, sleepin’ in my bed… I couldnae say no. I’ve been sayin’ no to myself a lot, lass. Lettin’ my whole life rush by me. You hit me like a punch, so you did. Woke me up.”

You held onto every word like it owed you money, watching his face for any signs of the playboy you’d been warned about, but finding only Johnny. It was hard to protest, but your heart was tearing in two thinking about your friend and her brother. You sighed,

“Johnny, I can’t…”

“I know you cannae betray her. I know that. I know you won’t. But, you’ll let me, won’t you? Let me pretend that I can have you, just for tonight. I’m back in Sakhra tomorrow morning, but tonight I’m here with you. Just once, I’d like to know what that feels like.” 

“And what happens to me?” You were whispering for some reason, matching his low voice, telling a secret you didn’t know how to keep, “What happens when you’re in Sakhra and I’m still here? Alone.”

He sighed, rucking his hands through his hair and standing up, pacing in the kitchen like he was waiting on bad news. Johnny shook his head, staring at the floor as he admitted,

“I dinnae ken what to do…”

You stood and joined him in the dimly lit kitchen, following some old recipe without a name, kneading dough that shouldn’t rise, baking bread you shouldn’t be breaking. Your hands found his broad, warm chest and you let him curl his arms around you. 

“Just tonight, then,” you whispered again, as low as you could so that the angels might not make it out. 

His whole body responded to your concession, lighting up like a fire in a hearth, 

“Aye, mo mhèirleach, just tonight. And tomorrow, I’ll be gone, and you can call it a dream.” 

He bent to kiss you and you dissolved into him like sugar into hot water, syrupy and sticky, cloying and saccharine. You were engulfed in his scent and his heat; he folded in and out of each of your senses, buttery smooth and suffocating. His hands were everywhere all at once, furious in their grasping, and eager to put skin on skin. 

You were lifted, like you weighed nothing, frothy and light, spinning against his body until your legs wrapped around his hips. He walked you to his room, shouldering open the door with a cruel shove, suffering no obstacle. You fell, having been released from him, feeling like you would tumble forever downward before bounding on the soft mattress, the same sheets that held your secret sins holding your brazenness now. 

You reached for his shirt and his buttons, and you were stopped. He held you, panting and breathless, shaking his head,

“No, thief, not you. Let me.” 

Lost and pliant, you let him take you apart, peeling your clothes away, piece by piece, kissing the skin as he revealed it. Your blood rushed through your body, chasing his mouth, pooling in your lower belly, exciting your flesh, swelling your folds. You felt it tingle, and you reached for him again, trying to pull him on top of you. 

That was what he wanted, right? What all men wanted. A sheath for their blade? But, oddly enough, he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he shed his shirt and pants, joining you on the bed, his face lingering by your belly, kissing you softly, licking your thighs and leaving little bruises on your hips with his mouth. Johnny finally found his way to your core, much to your aching relief, planting slick, languid kisses against your mons and lips, sucking at their softness. 

He moaned like he was the one feeling the pleasure, looping your legs over his arms and moving your body up the bed with a purposeful shove, still suckling from you like a bee from a flower; as if his life depended on his work. You couldn’t help but run your hands through his hair, the silky smoothness of his mohawk too tempting to tug and scratch at his scalp.  

If you did, he rewarded you for it. Every tug of his hair earned you a whining groan, and long gentle scratches on his head meant that he would gaze up at you through those long eyelashes with a heady, feral hunger. He lapped at your slick heat, fucking you with his mouth, eating you in a way you hadn’t imagined possible. 

You were sobbing out long, growling cries of pleasure, begging him for more and more. He was all too happy to obey. When you came, he would edge you through it, pulling you along the crest of each wave of your pleasure like a buoy through the tide, keeping you afloat so that you might feel each and every salacious ebb of it. 

“That’s it, lass. Come for me. Such a sweet cunt, like honey…”

You lost track of time, of everything. The only thing that existed was Johnny’s mouth on your pussy, and you were his prisoner. He could have told you to light yourself on fire and you would have hurried to do it. You were burning anyway. Your body was aching from the tension of coming over and over, sweating into the sheets from your exertion. Typically, he would have been begging for his turn by now, but Johnny was not a typical man. 

You tried to stop him. You pulled his mouth away with some difficulty, making him face you, motioning for him to come and take the position his cock had generously earned between your thighs, but his mouth would hear none of it, shaking his head and returning to his post, dutiful and insatiable. 

“Johnny, please…I’m - I can’t…” You couldn’t form words. 

He smiled at your plight, 

“Want another, mo mhèirleach? I’m so close. Give me another, lass. Please.”

He sucked at your clit with a dedicated fury, his hands pulling you in to his mouth, lapping right at your coiled nerves, fraying them, sparking them like kindling. You cried his name, hoarse from doing so, and you watched as his face contorted with pleasure as he thrust his hips into the bed, shamelessly humping the mattress, coming from your ecstasy and the little friction he could find. 

Johnny called out for you and you held his hand, looping your fingers in his as you had in the castle, in his car, helping him come down from his high. He panted, recovering bit by bit, slowing his movements, kissing you chastely in all of the spots he’d been torturing. 

He crawled up your body, finally, covering you with his hulking mass, sweating and heavy. You were trapped in his arms, your hands feeling his chest hair for the first time, cradling his face, watching him smile from utter bliss. 

“Thank you, love,” he kissed you on your mouth, meaning it.

You chuckled, breathless,

“Me? Goddamn. I should be thanking you. Are you sure you don’t need me to…” 

You reached your hand down to peel his ruined boxer briefs away from his softening cock, wet and messy from his orgasm on the bed. He caught your hand in his, stopping you,

“No, you cannae break your promise. You haven’t, thief. Dinnae worry. It was me. Just me. I just…needed to know.”

He curled you close to himself, folding you into him completely, and you slept there with him, naked atop the sheets, not caring who might see you. 

DAWN OF THE NEXT DAY

You woke before he did, still curled inside of him, cocooned in his warmth like a reluctant butterfly, your wet wings still remembering his sweet work. Your breathing must have changed, because he woke too, looking down at you pleased yet hungry. He kissed you, soft as could be, and his fingers found your pussy just as they had when he’d been half-dreaming of you. Johnny touched you with confident purpose now, whispering in your ear so that you could feel his warm breath inside of it,

“Morning, mhèirleach.”

You gave him Shakespeare, teasing him for his love of poems. It was too fitting not to,

“Morning? It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear…”

He was extremely pleased with your offering, raising his eyebrows, wanting you to continue. You did,

“Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: believe me, love, it was the nightingale.”

He put on his best face for remorse, trying to remember his part, 

“It was the lark, the herald of the morn. No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks do lace the…uh…  

“Severing…” You helped him, smiling like a fool. 

“...severing - um… clouds in yonder east…”

“That was good!” You kissed his cheek, rewarding his attempt, and then, sobering, you asked him, “Do you really have to go?”

He became serious with you, sighing into your skin,

“I do. But, I’ll text you all my mornings until we have another, aye?”

“Another? I thought you said we wouldn't…”

“I know what I said, thief.”

You kissed him until the last moment, and the click of his door as he closed it behind him made your heart ache. You lay there wondering about consequences and lovers and families and their houses until the sun sliced through the glass and into your eyes, glossy and full of uncertainty.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Chapter 06

[hungermakesmonsters]

Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Sixteen

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Chapter Rating : R - smut

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] There's some light spanking and recording of smuttiness (all with enthusiastic consent) . Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : ~3.8k

A/N : Set straight after the last one -- I think we all saw where this was going. ALSO I HIT 100 FOLLOWERS. I'm speechless, thanks so much for the follows and for reading this every week, it means so much to me!

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN | CHAPTER FOURTEEN | CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Chapter Sixteen

While you were both eager to get home, you and Billy managed to last another hour, spending your time drinking, dancing and sitting with Frank and Karen. The change in Billy was so apparent that you even caught Frank giving him strange looks. It seemed like a weight had been lifted from him, like he finally felt as safe with you as you felt with him. And, by the time you made your excuses to leave, you were more than ready to get him all to yourself.

Neither of you really spoke on the taxi ride home, you were content to just snuggle up against him, trying to keep warm. And Billy was quick to usher you through his buildings foyer and into the elevator once you were inside. Then everything seemed to explode.

His lips were on yours before the elevator doors had even fully opened, his hands on your hips, pulling and guiding you into the penthouse, both of you shrugging off your coats. By the time the doors slid shut, he had you pressed back against the wall, no space between your bodies, leaving you with no doubt about how much he wanted you. If you’d let him Billy would have happily fucked you right then and there, as he had on countless other occasions, and part of you did want to let him. But you wanted more than that tonight. It had been such a good night after the initial discomfort of your argument, and you wanted the good feelings to last as long as possible.

Eventually, you broke the kiss, giving him a light, playful shove before grabbing a fistful of his shirt near the collar and pulling him into the apartment, towards the sofa. Billy let you pull him around, a grin on his lips as you pushed him down onto the sofa and straddled his lap. His hands found your hips, but he let you have your little moment of control because you both knew that, sooner or later, he was going to take charge.

Your fingers started to pull at the buttons of his shirt, one by one, slowly revealing the hot skin beneath. Your hips rocked slowly, lips finding his neck, kissing and sucking skin and slowly heading down as more buttons came undone. When your cold hands ran down his chest, Billy squirmed, letting out an awkward huff of laughter. And, when your eyes finally caught his again, and you could see how he was looking at you, you knew just how much he wanted you.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” you told him as your fingers started to pull his belt and pants open.

“Fun’s only just starting, sweetheart,” Billy smiled, his fingers ghosting your cheek before slipping into your hair and pulling you down, into a deep and eager kiss.

Cold fingers freed his erection as you kissed, earning a hiss and a groan as you started to stroke him, loving how quickly he responded to your touch. Billy pulled you closer, kissed you harder, saying those familiar words without saying a thing; I want you, you’re mine. And you were. In that moment you were nothing but Billy’s. 

A wicked thought occurred and your lips pulled into a smirk against his before moving to whisper in his ear; “I thought you said I deserved a spanking?”

The fingers in your hair gave a tug, pulling you back so he could look at you, and the look on his face had you biting your lip. His dark eyes were filled with a wanting that should’ve terrified you but, instead, you wanted to sate it, you wanted to fulfil his every desire, no matter how dark.

Your fingers continued to stroke him, never faltering as you held his gaze, defiant and unafraid. You wanted him to see that you weren’t scared of him, you weren’t afraid of the ways he wanted you.

Billy took a slow breath before releasing his grip on your hair and commanding; “stand up.”

You did as you were told without hesitation, climbing from his lap and standing in front of him.

“Take off your dress.” He commanded and you obeyed, pulling the off-the-shoulder number down and letting it fall to the floor, exposing your bare breasts and a pair of blue lace panties. When your hands moved to your panties, he stopped you; “leave the panties... and your heels.”

Your cheeks warmed as you dared to look down at yourself, not noticing that Billy’s eyes also moved down your body, taking in the sight of you. Then he sat forward a little, patting his lap, silently telling you what you needed to do. You crawled over his lap without question.

Then came an odd stillness; he was waiting for you to change your mind, you realised. No chance. You glanced over your shoulder at him, smiling as you started to provocatively wiggle your ass from side to side until he finally touched you. Heat from his hand bled through the lace of your panties to your skin, but Billy didn’t waste any time before slipping between your thighs.

“Fuck, sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me you were so wet?” His fingers found your swollen clit beneath the wet fabric and started to tease, running circles around it, causing you to completely soak through your panties.

“Billy,” you moaned, “please…”

You weren’t sure what you were begging for, but Billy seemed to know.

“All this ‘cause you want a spanking?” You nodded and he grinned. “It’s supposed to be a punishment, not a turn-on.”

“So punish me then,” you challenged.

If he had a clever answer for that, he kept it to himself in favour of swinging back his hand and landing the first sharp slap on your ass. A shocked cry slipped from your lips, but the look on your face told him everything he needed to know; you didn’t want him to stop. 

By the time you felt the fourth slap, your cries had turned to moans, but you knew he was holding back, that he was being as gentle as he could be, and that was fine. You realised that it wasn’t so much the act that had you crying out his name, it was the fact that you trusted him, completely and utterly. And it felt good to give up control, to allow yourself to just feel without overthinking and worrying. 

You were safe with Billy.

When he stopped, he left you with a wonderful kind of ache, his hand slipping beneath lace to tenderly soothe you. Overwhelmed by him, by the moment, you could barely lift your head to look at him, but you heard his name spill from your lips.

You barely noticed his hands tearing your panties, all you could think about was the delicate way he was touching you.

“Fuck, sweetheart, if I’d known you were into this I would’ve had you over my knee a long time ago,” he muttered as his hand slipped between your thighs again, fingers running through your arousal. You trembled as his fingertips grazed your wet slit, giving away just how close to coming you had been while he was spanking you. Billy didn’t hesitate, sinking two fingers into you with ease and slowly starting to fuck you with them, filling you to the knuckle with every thrust. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m going to take good care of you and this needy little pussy.”

“Please, Billy...” You moaned, back arching.

“No one else is ever gonna make you feel as good as I do,” he told you in that barely restrained tone that sent a thrill up your spine, “because you’re mine.”

“Yes,” you moaned as his fingers bent inside you and his thumb grazed your clit, “I’m yours, Billy.” The admission seemed to come from nowhere, but you didn’t notice and, frankly, you didn’t care. You were too drunk on the moment to think about anything other than Billy.

“Yeah, you are,” he practically cooed, obviously enjoying the more needy, submissive side of you, “this sweet little pussy is all mine now.”

“All yours,” you mewled as his fingertips hit just the right spot.

No one had ever made you feel like this before. You felt so good, so his, as he continued to fuck you with his fingers. Moans started to stack, and your eyes rolled back the closer you got to falling apart. You hardly noticed his fingers in your hair again until they gave a gentle tug, urging you to look back at him.  A possessive noise slipped from him when he saw your face, so intoxicated by him and what he was doing to you.

“You really are mine now, aren’t you?” As if he hadn’t really believed it until that moment.

“Yes, Billy,” you moaned, finally realising what you were saying, what you were admitting. “I’m all yours.”

His thumb pressed against your clit again causing you to writhe on his lap, so unashamedly desperate for everything he was doing to you, your moans getting louder as his fingers moved faster, finally pushing you over the edge. 

As you came, his fingers kept moving, dragging your pleasure out for as long as he could, holding your gaze as you moaned his name, over and over.  Finally, you sagged, feeling boneless, half on the sofa, half still draped across his lap. His fingers stayed inside you while his other hand slipped from your hair and returned to gently soothing the redness on your ass.

Billy watched as your breathing started to slow, remaining silent, giving you time to process everything that had just happened and all the little admissions you’d let slip. When you finally had the strength to move, he let his arousal slickened fingers slide from your body and lifted them to his lips, sucking every last trace of them from you while you sat up.

“I love the way you taste,” he smirked, licking his lips in a way that made your pulse race.

You leaned in to kiss him, to taste for yourself, sucking his tongue before deciding there was something else you’d rather do with your mouth.

His dark gaze held yours as you slipped between his legs and knelt on the floor before him. Your hand reached for his cock, giving his shaft a couple of lazy strokes before parting your lips and leaning in. You took just the tip at first, tongue greedily lapping up the pre-cum that had started to leak from him.

Billy moaned your name, his fingers tangling in your hair again and pressing down. You didn’t hesitate, giving him exactly what he wanted, your lips sinking down his length.

“Your mouth feels so fucking good,” he groaned, “I love when you blow me.”

You loved it too. You never felt more powerful than you did in moments like this, moments where you got to bring him pleasure.

Guided by the push and pull of his hand, your head started to bob, dragging your lips up and down him and, after you’d had a chance to relax, you managed to sink right down, taking every inch of him. He held you there for a few seconds, his eyes fixed on yours, holding your attention while his free hand reached for his phone. You didn’t even notice it until the camera was pointed at you and he looked at you like he was asking permission and, when you didn’t stop, didn’t try to pull away, he had his answer.

You didn’t know if he was recording or taking photos but your eyes stayed fixed on his, wanting him to know that he was the only thing that mattered to you. Soon enough you were moaning around his cock, taking every inch, over and over, while his grip on your hair guided you up and down, completely taking control, taking what he wanted from you. And you were happy to let him, wanting to give him the same mind blowing pleasure he’d just given you. 

Every breath he took was soon punctuated with a moan, with your name, a plea that only you could drag from him. When you felt him getting close, you reached between his legs, fingers lightly squeezing his balls and earning a guttural moan from him that had your thighs clenching.

A grunt was all the warning you got before he fell apart, spilling onto your greedy tongue. Your lips stayed wrapped around him, listening as he groaned and swore, not pulling back until he was completely finished. And, as his cock slipped from your lips, you made a point of licking your lips for the camera.

It took a few moments to finally kick off your heels and climb back onto his lap, resting your head against his shoulder as he caught his breath. Billy’s arm pulled around you, holding you tight, but neither of you spoke for a couple of minutes, both content to just hold each other.

“You okay?” He finally asked, his hand starting to trail up and down your back.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You muttered, shifting your head on his shoulder so you could see his face.

“Well, that was a lot of firsts for us and...” it only lasted a second, but his hesitation had your stomach knotting, “I know I can be a lot and that I sometimes want a lot, and I don’t -”

“Billy,” you stopped him the moment you realised what he was trying to say, “if you’ve got poor impulse control, then so do I, because I wanted all of this just as much as you.” You lifted your head so you could look at him, so he could see how serious you are. “Tonight has been - it’s been amazing.”

The sigh of relief that escaped him was almost enough to break you.

“Tonight was easily the best night of my life,” he told you, his lips pulling into a beautiful but cocky smile, “and I’ve got the video evidence to prove it.”

Your cheeks immediately started to warm. “You won’t show anyone, will you?”

“Sweetheart, the only one that gets to enjoy you sucking my cock is me.” And you believed him, you believed that possessive tone in his voice. “Is it okay? I mean, me recording you? I can delete it -”

“It’s okay,” you told him, voice turning quiet, almost shy despite everything you’d just done, “I - I liked it. It made me feel... I dunno, dangerous.” 

“You’re never in any danger when you’re with me.” And for the first time in your life, you really did feel safe, but you didn’t know how to put any of it into words beyond what you’d told him earlier but you never felt safer than when you were in his arms. “You know that, right? That I’d never let anyone hurt you -- that’d I’d kill anyone that ever tried.” A shudder ran up your spine at the way he said it, like the prospect of taking a life meant nothing to him if it was to keep you safe. And, as terrifying as the thought was, it only made you love him more.

“I know, it’s just...”

“What?”

“This - us - it’s still all so new, and I’m scared that I’ll do something wrong.” Your gaze dropped, but Billy didn’t let you look away for long, his hands finding your cheeks and urging you to look at him again. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“There’s nothing you could do that would make me leave you,” his dark eyes stared directly into yours as he spoke and there was a pain there, something you didn’t recognise but immediately wanted to soothe. “Every time you’ve walked away from me, I’ve felt so fucking empty - the kind of empty that I can’t fill with money or expensive things, the kind of empty that hurts so fucking much. It scares me how much I want you. I never wanted anyone ‘til I met you.”

“No one?” You finally dared ask the question that had been burning in your mind since this whole thing had started. Of course, you knew that there had been plenty of other women, but you didn’t know how much he’d felt for them. Billy shook his head. 

“I never thought I wanted to get attached - I always thought it was just easier to be on my own, to have people just see me as a playboy and never let anyone really get to know me,” his fingers tenderly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “but then you happened, sweetheart.”

The words caused a swell of warmth in your chest, something that made you want to hold him tight and never let him go.

“So, with the others... it wasn’t like us? You didn’t - y’know...”

“Spank any of them until they were almost coming all over my lap?” He asked with that infuriatingly amused smile on his lips. “Make them moan my name in a crowded party?” Your cheeks felt warm again and you wondered how he could manage to keep a serious tone. “No, sweetheart, what we have - it’s never been like that with anyone else. Have you -”

“No,” you answered quickly. Too quickly. “Everything feels brand new with you, like the past doesn’t matter, and that’s all I want.”

Before he could answer, before he could even think to ask what you meant, your lips were on his again, pressing him back against the sofa. You didn’t want to think about the past, just the present and the future that you might have with Billy. Things quickly turned heated, and Billy was soon pulling you close and holding you tight, groaning as your hips started to move again. It wasn’t long before you felt his cock, hard and ready between your thighs.

“Fuck, Billy, I love how hard you get for me,” you panted when the kiss finally broke, needily grinding against his cock..

His lips quickly started to trail downwards, wet kisses and the scrape of teeth on skin, down your neck and collar bone. You back arched instinctively the further down he roamed, offering your breasts to him and, as expected, Billy gladly accepted. Reaching for his phone, you opened the camera as his lips sealed around a nipple, and started to record him. There was a strange feeling of power to it, something that made you feel sexy in a way you didn’t often get to feel, recording yourself writhing on his lap while he sucked and nipped at your nipple.

Billy didn’t realise that you were recording him until you awkwardly reached between your bodies to steady his cock enough to sink down onto it. He moaned, lips pulling away from your chest as you took every inch of him. The grin that pulled at his lips when he noticed his phone in your hand had your heart racing, and when his hands moved to grip your hips, you knew that he was going to put on a good show for the camera.

“You feel so fucking good,” he grunted, “my sweet little pussy, so tight and wet for me.”

Your body clenched around him, knowing that everything he said, every sound you made, would all end up in the recording. 

“I’m yours, Billy. This sweet little pussy is just for you.” You panted, riding him harder and faster, directed by his hands on your hips, moaning every time he drove his cock into you. His lips returned to your nipples while his fingers found your swollen clit, and it quickly became overwhelming, every moan and cry louder than the last. Everything went white as you shattered around him, crying out his name as you fell apart so completely. You didn’t even realise you were being moved until your back was pressed down onto the sofa and Billy’s body covered yours, his phone hanging loosely from your hand at your side, now only capturing the sounds you were both making.

He fucked you hard and deep, laying claim to you, reminding you that you were his, even though you didn’t need the reminder.

“Harder,” you heard a voice groan. It wouldn’t be until a lot later that you realised it was you. Other pleas fell from your lips and he granted your every demand, fucking you in a way that you knew had ruined you for other men. 

Billy managed to pull another orgasm from you before his own hit, leaving you a trembling mess beneath him as he emptied himself inside you, each twitch drawing another moan from you. He practically collapsed on top of you, and your hands moved to his back, gently caressing sweat slicked skin while you both struggled to catch your breath.

“Fuck...” he muttered, his face buried against your neck. “I never want to get used to how good that feels.”

You didn’t have a response for him, you didn’t have anything to say - you’d both already said so much that you didn’t think you needed to say anything. Instead you closed your eyes and listened to the sounds of him breathing, knowing without a doubt that you were in love with him and that you were the happiest you’d ever been.

“Billy,” you finally muttered, exhausted, “take me to bed?”

And he did just that, quickly scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to the bedroom, tenderly placing you in bed before crawling in beside you and gathering you up in his arms. A contented sigh left him as he pressed his lips to the top of your head.

He held you tight - he always held you tight as you fell asleep, but this time it felt different, it felt like he was clinging to you, like he didn’t want to let go. 

“Billy, if you hold me any tighter I won’t be able to breathe,” you muttered with a sleepy laugh.

“You don’t need to breathe,” he answered back, sounding exhausted, “you just need me.”

“Think I need you more than air,” you confessed quietly, your hand finding his pressed against your stomach.

“Good.” The word hung in the air between you for a few seconds. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? I don’t ever want to not have you in my life.”

Your hand squeezed his while your heart pounded in your chest; he wasn’t saying the words, wasn’t telling you that he loved you but, for Billy, it felt close, it felt like maybe he could feel that way after all.

“I’m not going anywhere.” A ragged breath shook his body and you gave his hand another gentle but reassuring squeeze. “I’m yours, Billy.”

“Yeah, you’re mine.” Billy muttered softly, finally falling silent and allowing you to drift off to sleep.

Chapter Seventeen

END NOTES : Well, it took sixteen chapters and she's finally admitted to really having feelings for him to his face. The next chapter is going to be similar to this one (sort of smutty but some character/relationship development thrown in) and it'll be up same time next week.

Again (and always) thanks for the comments, reblogs, likes, follows -- and even if you don't do those things and you just read, thanks anyway.

I know I'm not the greatest at remembering to respond to things but, honestly, thank you. I never thought I'd get to 100 followers or have even half as many people reading this fic when I started.

If you want adding/removing from the tag list let me know (I know it’s not working for everyone - if it’s not working and you don’t want to miss a chapter, I post every Friday around 7:30pm gmt)

TAG LIST

@lincerad @sweetserendipity65 @rafaelakelley  @slayerofthevampire @rensolodriver @lovelydoveval  @doloreschanal @damagelove @danzer8705  @unlikelystarlightcowboy @schlotzshewrote @bisexualbith  @uncontainedsmiles  @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes  @lilliesofmay @billyrussoslut @readingabouthim @arwensloanebarnes

[alienssstufff]

If we’re going off of the “All genloss deaths were real and shot through a silly filter”:

-CHARLIE: Survives DAY1. The death as the Slime Demon was staged and he was taken away offscreen through special effects. His real death however happens on DAY2 when Ranboo performs surgery on him in the Second Puzzle Room (Surgeon Simulator) this is also the first time we see the red camera (the set without the silly) for the first time. The ‘Charlie’ Ranboo was talking to in the second room was his dead body with the SFX put in. I also think his voice was pre-recorded (like the cutaways on DAY1) before that -which makes everything even more fucked up knowing he was recording lines to replace himself in case he died. This ALSO also implies that Snowfall made Charlie eat ?? A bunch of micro plastics back when he was made the protagonist which I think is very funny cuz why??? He got a whole mouse trap and hotwheels car in him dude 😭

-SNEEG: Survives DAY1. Like Charlie we see him get taken away offscreen for DAY2. We see that red camera again as he tries to get away during the second room through a bathroom break but Snowfall brainwashes him. The original plan was supposed to be one person would survive the second room but by what happened. A second person (Sneeg) would be picked to survive and essentially act as an enforcer to make sure the other actors stay in line. He ultimately dies keeping himself and Austin at the other side of the wall, crushing them to death in Seventh Puzzle Room (Hole in the Wall).

-NIKI: Is shot twice offscreen by Jerma in the Fourth Puzzle Room (Candy Crush) DAY2. Theorise the game masters (Charlie DAY1, Jerma DAY2) like Sneeg were there to supervise the actors. Theorise the first shot at Niki was a deliberate mercy shot to keep her quiet but alive. It’s implied through watching Sneeg get brainwashed that Jerma was terrified that the same would happen to him if he failed - the second shot was reluctant but fatal.

-VINNY: Burnt by lasers and blunt head trauma in the Fifth Puzzle Room (Oceans 11 Heist) DAY2. Kinda a weird one I think they actually did try to throw Vinny over the lasers but it both wasn’t far enough and too high. He’s burnt by lasers but we also see him hit his head on the ceiling which might have been the final blow rather than a comically small anvil.

-ETHAN: murdered offscreen in the Sixth Puzzle Room (Top Model) DAY2. Similar case to Niki he went backstage where he wasn’t supposed to go (the blacklight signs just extra warning to the actors NOT to use that way in)

-AUSTIN: Crushed to death by a wall in the Seventh Puzzle Room (Hole in the Wall) while being held back by Sneeg on DAY2.

-JERMA: Murdered offscreen in the final room (Mall of America entrance) DAY2. Snowfall found out about the recording Jerma was going to use to help Ranboo find the truth after witnessing the deaths and they killed him.

-FRANK (bonus): Unknown if he was an actual person or a prop (hard to tell atp). If he was he’d be long dead before DAY1. He could have been Sneeg’s friend, he could have been a staff member at Snowfall who rebelled and tried to escape. Those ‘slime’ parts on Charlie’s set on DAY1 might have even been Frank’s body parts.

[amhrosina]

Your Pretty Heart (Billy Russo x f!Reader)

A/N: Anyone else widely obsessed with Pedro Pascal and The Last of Us right now? Being back in my Pedro era feels like getting home after a long ass trip. Should I write for some of Pedro's characters?? SOS! Also, I hit 800 followers today??? Like what??? Thank you to everyone who supports me and this account!!

Request: ex’s to lovers with Billy Russo or Matt Murdock. Where Frank and Karen “help” Billy/Matt get their ass together to get back with Reader. Because come on their clearly still in lovee. 

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: When you and Billy break up, Karen takes it upon herself to get you back together. Her plan comes to a head one night at Josie’s, and you and Billy must face the consequences of loving and leaving one another. 

(Warnings: so much angst, cursing, Billy is a soft!boy at heart, soft!Billy, descriptions of smut (but like romantic descriptions, not graphic ones??), I think that’s it, it’s literally just really sad until the end lol) 

“You look great.” Your date smiled, but he wasn’t looking at your face. Instead, for the third time in less than a minute, his eyes trailed the sloping curve of your cleavage as it disappeared into your dress. You shrugged his gaze off, hoping there was at least something interesting about him to keep you entertained for the evening. Something could be there. Deep, deep, down, but there, nonetheless.  

“So, Brad, what do you do for work? When Karen set this up, she didn’t tell me much about you.” 

“I’m an accountant.”  

Brad nodded his head along with yours, an awkward bob as you waited for him to return the question. He didn’t, instead choosing to fix his gaze on the jazz singer across the restaurant. Zero for two, Brad. 

“Do you, uh, have any hobbies?” You tried again to break the conversation dam, but Brad’s attention was so far away from the table you were sharing that he barely glanced at you when he responded. 

“I jog sometimes.” 

“Oh!” You lurched forward, desperate to grab onto anything that might make this date less awkward. “I like to jog, too. I’ll listen to books when I do it to pass the time. Do you read at all?” 

Brad’s eyes flicked to yours, then back to the jazz singer. Uninterested, bored, and inconvenienced. That’s what his glance told you. 

“People who need books or music when they run aren’t capable of self-reflection. It’s how you grow as a human being, you know? You should try it.”  

You blinked. Who the fuck does this guy think he is? A pompous, arrogant, prick seemed like the winning description, and you chuckled as you looped your purse handle over your shoulder. 

“Well, Brad.” You stood from your seat, drawing his attention away from the band. “Congratulations. You win. I think this is quite possibly the worst date I’ve ever been on, and that’s saying a lot.” 

You didn’t deem him with an explanation as you exited the restaurant, but a vivid memory flashed in your mind of Billy standing you up on your anniversary last year. Yeah, that date was terrible, but at least Billy hadn’t insulted you after standing you up. He’d spent weeks apologizing with flowers, jewelry, and even cutting down on his time at Anvil so he could spend more time with you, but that date would always stick out in your mind as the beginning of the end.  

You shook the thoughts from your head, digging through your purse to find your cellphone. Karen was going to explain where the fuck she met this guy, and why she thought setting him up with you would be a good idea. She picked up on the second ring. 

“Karen.” You tapped your foot on the sidewalk. “What the fuck?” 

“Hey! How was the date?”  

Wherever Karen was, it was loud. You could barely understand her through the speaker, muffled by music and what sounded like a crowd of people in the background.  

“The date was so bad.” You almost whined. Almost stomped your foot at how unfair the dating world had become. Almost thought about how much easier it was when you were with Billy. “Where did you even meet this guy?” 

“At work. Was he an asshole?” She sounded apologetic, but the volume at which she had to scream her question into the phone made the entire interaction feel a little less impactful.  

“Grade-A Asshole.” You groaned. “Where are you?” 

“I’m at Josie’s, but-” 

“Great. I’m on my way.”  

You hung up the phone before she could respond and hailed a taxi. You felt a little guilty for barging in on her evening. Karen was a good friend, one that you’d clung to since you and Billy had gone your separate ways, and she deserved a night out without your moping. But the nagging feeling rolling around in the pit of your stomach told you exactly the reason you had to go to Josie’s. If you didn’t go hang out with Karen, you’d end up calling Billy, and the last thing you wanted to do was let him see you after a shitty date. You climbed into the taxi and hoped you could drink away the memories of tonight with Karen once you arrived at Josie’s.  

- 

Billy took a hefty sip of his beer as he eavesdropped on Karen’s phone conversation. Technically, it wasn’t eavesdropping if Karen had whacked him on the arm the second her phone started ringing, but it made Billy uncomfortable anyways. What they’d planned felt too much like a trick, and he didn’t want to take advantage of the situation. 

“She’s on her way.” Karen grinned, raising her beer in the air to clink bottles with him.  

Billy fiddled with the bottle in his hand, unsure if there was anything to be ‘cheersing’ to. 

“C’mon, Bill,” Frank grunted, meeting Karen’s still outstretched arm, “It worked. She’s on her way. Now, all you have to do is be a lesser asshole than her date.” 

“Don’t you think she’ll be furious when she finds out her entire evening was construed by her ex-boyfriend and best friends? She doesn’t even want to see me.” 

“Trust me, Billy,” Karen angled her head for emphasis, “She does. She just won’t admit it.” 

“How do you know, though?”  

“I see it on her face, and hear it in her voice, and she’s still sleeping on my couch. And you know what that tells me?”  

Billy rolled his eyes. “What does that tell you, Karen?” 

Karen’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “That she’s not looking for another apartment. That she still has hope that she’ll be able to go home, to your apartment.” 

Billy shook his head. “The market is insane. Maybe she just can’t find an affordable one.” 

“I saw three listed in the paper this morning. She’s not looking, Billy. She misses you.” 

Billy groaned, dragging his hands over his face. This entire situation was completely and totally fucked, and it was completely and totally his fault. He’d always been warned that his ambition would get the best of him. You’d slipped through his fingers so quickly that he got whiplash when he thought about the end of the relationship. It was like you were there one day and gone the next, and he had no idea how he ended up alone, stranded in his kitchen in the middle of the night because the idea of going to bed without you hurt too much.  

“What if it’s too late? What if I can’t fix it?” 

“All you can do is try, Bill.” Frank shrugged. 

“She loves you.” Karen spoke firmly, tapping her finger on the table, “And you love her. But she needs to know that. You have to show her that you love her.” 

“How? I thought I was doing that before.” Billy let out a disgruntled breath and cleared his throat.  

“Your priorities need to change. She deserves better than last-minute cancellations and rescheduled dates. You’re your own boss, Billy. You make the rules, and no matter how much money you spend on her, or how many gifts you buy her, she’s always going to remember the times that you didn’t show up.” 

Billy nodded. Karen was right, as usual. There’d been a significant change in the amount of time Billy was spending at Anvil, sometimes returning home early in the morning, only to change suits and leave again. It wasn’t your fault – it never was – but Billy couldn’t help himself from falling back into his old patterns. When shit got too real, he retreated, and it ended up costing him the most important thing in his life.  

Tonight was his chance to fix everything – to bring you home, to remind you that he adored you, to show you that his life was falling apart without you in it. All he had to do was get you to listen, and he was sure everything else would fall into place. 

- 

You took three steps into the bar before swiveling around and marching out in a dramatic fashion. Cursing Karen for conveniently forgetting to mention that Billy was with her, you tried not to stomp down the sidewalk that led to Karen’s apartment. If you had an apartment of your own, you’d surely be stomping your way there instead.  

You didn’t make it far before you heard your name being called behind you. Two distinct voices trailed you, but you were more focused on the lack of the third. Had he stayed behind at the bar? You swung around, almost slamming into Frank’s chest. Karen was a few steps behind him, and behind her, stood beautiful and broken Billy, hands in his pants pockets.  

“What?” You screeched, eyes flickering between the group. 

“I just wanted to tell you thaaaat,” Karen’s eyes twinkled, and you should’ve known that she was about to make your night go from bad to worse, “I’m going back to my apartment with my boyfriend, who is going to do very loud things to me for hours. If I were you, I’d steer clear of the whole block tonight.” 

You rolled your eyes and looked at Frank, whose innocent expression gave away Karen’s plan faster than you could piece it together. Clearly, this coup had been planned, and they were leaving you with no option but to spend time with Billy. 

“Is that so?” You narrowed your eyes at her, hoping she could read every nasty thought you’d ever had about her in your gaze.  

“Yep!” She hooked an arm through Frank’s and tugged him down the sidewalk. “See you tomorrow!” 

You watched them until they turned a corner, and you could no longer see them. When you turned to face Billy again, he had inched closer to you, standing a heady meter away with his hands still in his pockets. 

“Did you plan this?”  

The anger in your voice echoed across the concrete, slamming into Billy. He grasped his chest as if you’d shot him in the heart.  

“No. I didn’t even know there was a plan until I showed up at Josie’s earlier.” 

You hesitated to believe him, but something in the way he was looking at you told you to trust him. You looked him up and down, focusing on the way he looked worse than you’d ever seen him. For a brief second, you felt triumph over it. He deserved this after everything he did to you. He deserved to feel like shit. The triumph faded faster than it came, and an overwhelming sadness replaced the ire thoughts you were having about him.  

There were bags under his eyes, and you could tell he hadn’t been sleeping well. He never did when he couldn’t sleep with you. The facial hair that he usually kept so neat and maintained had grown beyond his usual boundaries, and the fact that he kept subconsciously scratching at it told you he didn’t like it. You tried not to let it get to you. You probably looked like shit, too.  

“How’ve you been?” His focus remained wholly on you. You rubbed the back of your neck to try and shake off his stare. 

“We don’t have to do this, Bil.” You looked at the ground, focusing on the crack in the concrete that crawled its way across the sidewalk, drawing a line inbetween you and Billy. You couldn’t decide if that was fitting, or incredibly sad. Maybe it was both. 

“We’re not doing anything.” He shook his head innocently. 

“You know what I mea-” 

“Come home.”  

There was a pregnant pause in the conversation as the two of you eyed each other. 

“Billy, I-” 

“Just for tonight. Until Karen’s apartment is...safe again.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, searching for an ulterior motive. And of course, there was an ulterior motive. You couldn’t blame him for it, because you knew if the roles were reversed, you’d be doing the same thing.  

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” You shook your head, more towards yourself than at him.  

“Why not?” He cocked his head to the side. 

“You know why.”  

He nodded but shrugged his shoulders anyways.  

“I’m not going to leave you out here with nowhere to go. It’s either the apartment, or we spend the next few hours in awkward silence at a diner.” 

The apartment. Not ‘my’ apartment. He didn’t consider it his when you weren’t there to claim the other half of it. You couldn’t lie to yourself. You wanted so badly to go with him, to see the home that you’d built with him. You wanted so badly to see how he’d faired over the last month without you. It was with all this in mind, and not how much you missed him, that had you nodding, agreeing to go home. Just for a visit, you repeated in your mind, just for a visit. 

When you stepped into what was once the living room you shared with Billy, you were struck with an overwhelming sense of familiarity. There was nothing different about it, except that the bookshelf was a little less stuffed than usual. You’d grabbed your favorites on your way out, unable to part with them, even just for a little bit. 

“Can I get you some wine?” Billy asked, already heading toward the kitchen to pour himself a glass. You nodded, shrugging your jacket off and trying to ignore the strangeness of being treated like a guest in the home that you’d lived in for years.  

When Billy returned with two particularly full glasses, you plopped down on the couch. You didn’t know how to act, or what to say, or who to be when you were around him anymore and falling back into old habits seemed like a grand way to get your feelings hurt again. 

“You didn’t answer my question earlier.” Billy took a swig from his glass, sitting on the armchair across from the couch. You silently thanked the universe that he had put distance between the two of you. The closer he was, the less clearly you could think.  

“Which one?” 

“How’ve you been?” 

“Oh.” You took a sip, only because it gave you something to do with your hands. “I’ve been alright.” 

He smiled, but the corners of his mouth didn’t reach his eyes. Anyone who looked at you longer than two seconds could see that you’re clearly not doing alright, but you’d grown comfortable living in denial, and you weren’t going to admit how not alright you were.  

“Heard your date didn’t go well.” 

You scoffed. Maybe it was the wine, or the way he looked smug about the fact that you’d had a shitty date, but you couldn’t help what came out of your mouth next.  

“Fuck you, Billy. It’s none of your business.” 

Billy looked startled by your outburst. You gulped down another mouthful of wine before rubbing your hand down your face. 

“I’m sorry.” You shook your head. “I don’t know where that came from.” 

“It’s okay. I probably deserve it.” He shrugged, leaning back in his seat. 

“What happened to us?” You asked, gazing at the ceiling. 

“You tell me, sunflower. You’re the one that left.” 

Your heart ached at the nickname. It wasn’t fair that he used it, especially when you were clearly in a vulnerable mood, but you cherished it anyways.  

“You left first.”  

It was barely a whisper, said so quietly that you weren’t quite sure he had heard you. If the palpable tension that followed wasn’t indicative of his acknowledgment, the deep sigh that erupted from his chest soon after was indication enough. He stayed quiet, swirling the remaining wine in his glass around in small circles. 

You stared at him, unflinching in your assessment of his body language. He didn’t look as miserable as you felt, and a spark of anger ignited in your belly because of it.  

“Did you ever really love me, Bil?” You barked. It was bait, and both of you knew it. You’d never questioned his love for you, and he knew you were trying to get a rise out of him, but he couldn’t help stepping up to the plate and taking the bait. 

“What kind of fucking question is that?” He watched you closely. You tried not to let your triumph show on your face. “Of course, I love you.” 

He stood from his seat and rested his hands on his hips, willing you to do the same. Meet him where he stood, he dared, show him how much you still care. You were nothing if not a daredevil. You joined him in the middle of the room, pressing your index finger into his chest. 

“Well then, what the fuck happened?”  

“You. Tell. Me.” He gritted from between clenched teeth. 

Billy wasn’t being fair to you, and he knew it. You were asking a valid question, and he was cowering behind the anger and frustration in the room.  

“I can’t do this again, Bil.” You turned, reaching for your purse. A heavy tug on your elbow had you crashing into Billy’s chest, where he enveloped his arms around you and pulled you into a crushing hold.  

“You’re not leaving, are you?”  

There was a softness in his voice that tugged at your heartstrings. For a moment, you forgot you were speaking to a grown man and not an orphaned little boy. You blew a long breath out before shaking your head. He rested his forehead against your shoulder. 

“No, Bil. I’m not leaving.” 

“I always knew I’d end up breaking your pretty heart.” His voice was muffled by your shoulder, but you didn’t miss the slight crack in his words. “I knew I’d fuck it up eventually.” 

“I don’t understand what happened. Everything was fine, and then it wasn’t.” You blinked away the tears that had built up on your waterline.  

“I know, baby. I’m so sorry.” 

You cupped his face as he dropped to his knees in front of you. His eyes, now red-rimmed and glassy, pleaded with you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from lowering your body next to his. 

“What’s going on?” You asked him, eyes flickering between his fast-blinking eyelids and rapidly shaking hands.  

“I was afraid.” He cleared his throat. “Am. I am afraid.” 

“Of what? Where is this coming from?” You gaped. You knew Billy struggled with commitment more than most – it had taken him almost a year of serious dating before he could tell you he loved you – but you thought he had moved past that. 

“Tom’s getting married.” 

Your brow furrowed. “What does Tom have to do with us?” 

“Tom’s getting married, and all I can think about is how I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give that to you, and how you deserve someone who can give you everything you want and more.” 

You let his words sink into your chest, dissecting every interaction you’d had with him leading up to your breakup. It had been a slow descent, and when it finally became too much, you’d left with no clue how you ended up alone and sleeping on Karen’s couch every night. 

“Billy,” You shuttered, shaking your head as tears began to travel down your cheeks, “I never said I wanted any of that.” 

“It’s what you deserve.” 

“But it’s not what I want. Why couldn’t you see that I was happy with the way things were?” 

“I was terrified that you’d leave me. And then I became a shit boyfriend, and you really did leave me, and it was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

You wiped the tears from under your eyes and sniffled. “You weren’t always a shit boyfriend.” 

Billy snorted, letting a small smile cross his face as he tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear. 

“Can you ever forgive me, sunflower?” 

You considered his question. If you were being completely honest, you’d forgiven him as soon as you saw his pretty, brown eyes across the bar earlier, so sad and searching for you.  

“Can you promise that you’ll tell me when you’re feeling like this again, instead of shutting me out?” You cupped his cheek, eyes flicking down to his lips and then back up to his eyes.  

“I can promise that I’ll try.” He swallowed, searching your expression. “Is that enough?” 

You lurched forward, pressing your lips to his. The kiss tasted of red wine and salt, and you were suddenly grateful that you’d slumped to the floor earlier instead of waiting until now, when your knees were weak and shaking with anticipation.  

“I love you.” Billy mumbled inbetween kisses. 

“Show me.” You responded, opening yourself to him for the first time in over a month. 

He took you right there on the living room floor, a flurry of intertwined limbs, swollen lips, and skin brushing skin. His lips only left yours long enough to whisper praises against your neck before returning to yours in a bruising kiss. When you came apart underneath him, you couldn’t stop the tears from forming, but he didn’t mind. He kissed the tears away, apologies in their own right, as he continued showing you how much he loved you. 

Later on, after hours of reconciliation and apologies, you collapsed next to Billy on the couch. You’d lost your clothes a long time ago, only covered with the throw blanket you’d purchased the year before on a whim, and you watched as he sighed in quiet contemplation.  

“We should tell Karen and Frank that their plan worked.” You rested your head on his shoulder. He smiled, pulling you into his chest.  

“Let them figure it out on their own. They’ll come around at some point tomorrow when you still haven’t gone back.” 

He was right. The next morning, when Karen and Frank knocked on the door, you and Billy were still cuddled together on the couch, so worn out from the night before that you hadn’t been able to muster up the energy to move to the bedroom. You took one glance at Billy before you were on him again, uncaring that your friends were waiting. That’s fine, you thought, let them wait. Let them wait. 

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[firefirefruit]

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: One

Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter One: What Happens When a Swordsman Meets a Swordsmith? 

GIF by gildedmuse

Behind the Wall

Zoro notes that the trek up into the forest with Gramps is oddly silent, as his boots clumsily crush against the leafy meadow. Between the two, no words of small talk are being shared or expressed – which is surprising and also a breath of fresh air to Zoro, since it seems he can’t get away from people who love to yap. 

He was also secretly thankful that he was being guided to the swordsmith rather than having to put his listening comprehension skills to the test, with how – and he wholeheartedly believes this - villagers always give him the most confusing roundabout directions (really, it’s just them telling him to turn left). 

So, as he lags behind the dagger-swinging Gramps, he realises that this has been the first time in months that he’s felt at peace without having to sleep for it. 

After what seems like an hour of silent ambling, Gramps looks behind himself at the samurai and childishly beams. 

“We’re almost there, celery-boy.”

“Gotcha, dusty puffball,” Zoro retorts.

“I must warn you… you should be prepared for the swordsmith. She does not like to sugar-coat things.” 

Zoro remains silent; at first, he mulls over his words before deciding to shrug it off. It’s not like any of the swordsmiths he’s met are legendary, so really, why would her opinion matter?

As they near a mountainous cliffy terrain, Gramps stands ahead of a narrow gap between two rumbling boulders. His hands deftly stroke across a specific gap with obnoxious hand movements, which Zoro thinks he’s undoubtedly making up on the spot. Still, as the old man moves away from the caress, the rocks begin to shuffle and grumble lowly. The boulders twist and turn, jagged and crumbling, into forming an irregular cave-like hole. 

When the cave stops echoing its aroused yawn against its walls, the merchant turns around to stick his tongue at Zoro.

“You thought I was an insane old senile for a second, didn’t you?” 

Slowly, Zoro’s ears turn red.

“You did, didn’t you? You followed me here because you felt bad for me, didn’t you?” 

“Leave it alone,” Zoro sighs, feeling the heat continue to rush over the rest of his face. 

He quickly shuffles through the entrance before he can give the geezer another chance to holler at his idiocy. It didn’t stop the dusty puffball, though – as they both continue their journey within the dimly lit cave, Zoro can hear the old cackles that echoed off the jagged walls.

“Wait until you meet her, you’ll be lit up in flames!” He giggles deviously, pleased with his successful torment with the bull-head.

“I don’t give a shit about what anyone thinks,” Zoro mutters, remaining tight-lipped for the rest of the journey. 

Over the Wall

“Go find a transponder snail right bloody now - I’m not dealing with him,” you hiss at your Gramps, who stares at you almost as dumbly as the green sword wielder standing beside him.

“What are you talking about?” Gramps Suki splutters, acting oblivious as he’s always been with you. “Give him a chance, he’s a good kid!”

“No,” you hiss, ignoring the green-head standing stoically in front of your anvil, putting your palm up at Gramps. “Call the Navy Protection Services right now, he’s a disgrace to his swords.”

“Do you want a fight with me, woman?!” The idiot swordsman yells, clawing clumsily for the weapons at his hip.

Unprovoked, you hit him with a deadpan look to the side. God, how many careless swordsmen have you dealt with who all act the bloody same?

“That’s brave, asking to fight the one person who knows how to make and break a blade.” 

In an instant, green-head starts shouting out a string of insults like a moron. 

Although small and frail in appearance, you know Gramps Suki is more than what he chooses to show to people. In a swift manoeuvre, his knobbly hands grip the guy by the collar, making the samurai look like a wretched cat dragged by its neck.

“Get your hands off me, dumbass!” The swordsman chokes, squirming and struggling against the strength of your Gramps. Ignoring him entirely, Gramps stares at you with bewilderment and slight humour.

“What?” You ask him, casually heading to the back of the room to wash your hands. 

“We aren’t pro-Navy, Raya, or have you hit your head on the anvil again?”

“You’ve hit your head on the anvil before?” A gruff voice snickers in Gramps’ vice grip, making you grit your teeth hard.

“Someone needs to call child protection services on those poor swords,” you loudly announce, shutting the green-head up from his evil grin. 

You turn around to rest against the sink, drying your hands with a blackened rag. 

“I can quite literally feel how broken they are in their sheaths, and I’m stood all the way here. Don’t you respect your blades, Mr. Samurai, or do you like to use them as big tooth-picks instead?”

And the dude, still squirming a few centimetres in the air, absolutely loses it. You can’t help but crack a laugh over how furious he’s getting as he begins to continue with his insults. You swear you hear him call you an anvil-indented-head in his string of lovely compliments.

Even Gramps can’t help but guffaw at the entire interaction between you two, completely folding over in on himself. Although still holding onto the green-head’s shirt in an abnormally strong grasp, he heartily laughs on, as if he’s holding a cloth in the air.  

Tsk. Maybe Gramps really is going senile - you think, while you dust off your blackened hammer. Out of any person in the world, you didn’t know why Sukiyaki decided to bring in this idea of a swordsman as a potential client.

You and Gramps have only worked for the best and scarcely have any, if at all, clients – simply because, for you and Gramps, swordsmithing is incredibly dangerous and quite literally life-threatening. Your whole cover can be blown up in an instant if the wrong person fucks around and finds out who you both are.

As underground swordsmiths, you intentionally work away from the hubbub of the central market to gain only the attention of the right clients. To you, this cabbage patch of a man shows absolutely no promise, evidence, or indication of worthiness to bear your craftsmanship by his side. 

This dude comes in with a crumbling sword, the sword who’s barely holding herself together in the shambled state she’s in, as well as bearing two other wobbly blades on his hip. The first time you sensed their three auras, as he and Gramps made their way towards you, your whole stomach dropped. 

Of course, you see broken swords all the time; in your profession, it’s called for – but the way that the green-head’s metals were humming – no, moaning - made you want to writhe in your own skin. You’ve never heard this level of sadness before. It completely pained you to know what the blades were thinking.  

How unfeeling he is to the forces who defend his life, time and time again. Frankly, it’s insulting. 

“Who do you think you are, anvil-head? You’re just the village’s swordsmith - a nobody,” the guy spits out, wholly absorbed in his anger. He finally manages to push himself away from Gramps’ hands and land on his feet.

“Oh, God.. not again,” Gramps mutters, shaking his head in mild displeasure. He knows what’s about to happen.

Your hands pause in the middle of buffing your hammer. 

A nobody, huh?

Your fingertips grow warm. You gaze up at the man – the first time you’ve actually acknowledged him with a look - who’s now stomping towards you, his hands balled in fists. 

As you shake your head, you feel tendrils of smoke and heat frame around your face. What a bull-head. 

“Fix my swords, woman,” he demands through gritted teeth, standing between you and your workbench. 

You sigh, unimpressed, staring straight into his eye. 

“It can’t be done.”

“Are you telling me you’re so unskilled that you can’t mend my swords?”

A smile unfurls across your lips, fire emanating from your fingertips and across the stray curls of your hair. 

You shake your head. 

“No, I’m telling you that I'm melting them. Look down.”

Gramps Suki and Bull-Head slowly tilt their vision to the floor, plainly staring at the liquid metal dripping out of all three of his sheaths. 

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

i cannot find the post/tweet atm but that post that's like "[a] falls first but [b] falls harder isn't about [b] loving [a] more, it's about [a] getting so used to their (apparently unrequited) feelings it becomes the dull press of a bruise, versus [b] getting hit with a Feelings Realization Truck and immediately going completely insane about it. if they don't get to marry [a] TOMORROW they're going to start BITING PEOPLE" and i put tags like "this is tedependent. to me" and i am STILL THINKING ABOUT THIS. RANDOMLY AND UNPROMPTED. trent falls in love with ted first: and the love stays, but it becomes a low, constant white noise in his life, a background hum he can almost tune out; it's a candle flame burning gently in his chest, warm and constant but it still burns when he touches it. the dull press of a bruise. the resignation and acceptance that these feelings will never be returned, the love that asks for nothing and just enjoys being near him. meanwhile sometime in post-canon fix-it land or something ted's minding his own business when the anvil of Wait, Fuck, Am I In Love With Trent?? drops on his head with a loud BONK and he wakes up with a metaphorical goose egg and the revelation that wait, fuck, he IS in love with trent. so trent's over here with the slow, soft violins, fine with his little gay tragedy, because it doesn't feel so much like a tragedy when he's surrounded by a community he genuinely feels accepted in, and he's okay with the fact ted will never want him like that. and then in the next room ted is BARELY restrained from simply kool-aid-manning through the wall to propose to him on the spot. he's gonna start biting people and shaking them around like a dog with a chew toy if he doesn't get to kiss trent crimm on the mouth STAT. no but silliness aside really i can't stop thinking about that feeling of just accepting what the future has in store for you, that you'll never have what you truly want, that there's no hope, but getting to a place where you're okay with that, and then the love of your life/guy of your dreams suddenly is like "okay so i've thought about this long and hard and it turns out i'm like, mega in love with you. thoughts??????" i think ted has no idea trent's in love with him in this scenario btw. he's just hoping for the best. trent's his close friend and soooo beautiful and wonderful and maybe they could go on a date? (vibrating bc he cannot say he wants to spend the rest of his life with this man on a first date even if they have been friends for years) . what does trent even do with that. also if ted proposed to him he'd say yes

[shalscumbunny]

hi omg i love ur writing sm! i was wondering if you could just write a small story about shalnark getting jealous ? :) it could be for whatever reason or maybe because his s/o kept hanging out with the other troupe members for too long 😭 thank you in advance 💖💖

I hope you like it and everything is fine, I think I made it too short, with too much fluff, maybe even half OC… I hope you like everything!

Jealous boy | Jealous! Shalnark x Reader

Summary: Shalnark's beloved Y/N does a couple of extra jobs for the Gen'ei Ryodan and he can't help but get jealous.

Pairing: Shalnark X GN!Reader

Warnings: Shalnark being a needy, jealous, adorable little baby of 180 cm.

Author’s note: I always mention it in all my writings in English, but better safe than sorry, English is not my native language so it is very likely to find many mistakes and also that I know practically nothing about writing "X character and Y/N"

Sites: AO3

Shalnark is a conceited and jealous baby, in fact he likes that you pamper him and your attention is 1000000% focused only on him, he was completely proud that his girlfriend was useful to Gen'ei Ryodan, although it hurt him that you would give him less attention.

Your Nen skill is not very complicated, you can simply see the age of the objects and thanks to that avoid falling into the theft of false and worthless objects.

He was happy, I mean he was when Chrollo offered to give you temporary jobs to help them, what he didn't expect was that he would send you to search for the treasures with other members of the Ryodan other than him.

His brow furrows and his cheeks puff out slightly when he sees you chatting happily with Nobunaga or helping Feitan remove dirt from his umbrella, it's like an anvil falls on his head.

One day Phinks was eating one of the cookies you brought before going out in search of a necklace that he had been trying to steal for a couple of days, but he felt like he was being watched. While he was eating next to you, Shalnark's eyes were observing him penetratingly, almost not even was blinking.

"Don't you have the feeling that someone wants to kill you with their gaze?" Phinks asked you while your mouth was full of cookies, so you shook your head.

Of course, Shalnark never thought of sabotaging you, but a somewhat sadistic and childish giggle formed when he came up with little ideas to embarrass his friends in front of you.

He was simply watching from a distance when Nobunaga's sandal flew out of nowhere and he fell on his face without you being able to help him.

When you arrive somewhat confused and holding back your laughter at the Ryodan shelter, Shalnark is waiting for you there, with that innocent and sweet expression, it doesn't even seem like he would be capable of killing a fly.

"How did it go? Everything okay?" He asks and then picks you up, spins you around in the air a couple of times and kisses your lips briefly.

"Good!" You respond a little blushing as he lowers you to the floor. "I just felt sorry for Mr. Nobunaga, he slipped and hit his face."

"Really? What a shame!" Shalnark feigned pity and surprise, but something in his expression gave it away completely, making you raise your eyebrows.

You soon took his hand leading him to an empty room and cupped both of his cheeks in your two hands.

"What did you do?" You asked with a somewhat serious but calm voice.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he lied, pretending to be indignant.

A small smile appeared on your lips, he was adorable even pretending to be offended and you knew him like the back of your hand.

"Are you jealous, Shal?" You asked bluntly.

"No" He lied, denying you his gaze.

"Aww!!! You're super jealous!!!" You laughed hugging him "But why? Did I do something to upset you?"

Shalnark didn't even have a chance to react, he just snuggled into your hair and hugged you.

"No... it's just... what if you think the other members of the Gen'ei Ryodan are cooler than me? What if you want to leave me!?" He said nervously clinging to your body.

You couldn't help but be moved by his words and you stood on tiptoe to kiss his right cheek repeatedly.

"To me you will always be the most amazing, smart, handsome and charming member of the Gen'ei Ryodan" You said affectionately.

"You promise?"

"I promise, jealous boy" You said softly, delicately kissing his lips.

Thanks for reading this shit 🤍

[yeehawbvby]

When the Moon Fell in Love With the Sun | Ch. 10

March x F!Farmer

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventual smut)

Chapter Summary: March's birthday/some pre-Spring Festival shenanigans!

Author’s Note: Another obligatory "idk what type of technology exists and what doesn't" (my HC is that anything does, it would be, like, 90s-00s level stuff? Maybe?), alongside an obligatory "I know gold isn't in the game yet, I just thought it would give the scene it’s in some more oomph."

Hope y'all had a wonderful Halloween and that you enjoy this chapter :3

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

With the Spring Festival on its way, most of Mistria’s residents could be seen scrambling around in search of Breath of Spring flowers.

Those who often spent their time indoors such as the innkeepers and store owners often took to foraging, to keep things laxed while still giving it a fair chance. Ryis and Landen engaged in their typical work, finding flowers amongst the bushy leaves of the trees and bushes they chopped. The Dragonguard would lift rocks (which meant Luc often, to his excitement, found some new bug friends in the process), scoop up sea shells to peek into, and even clamor into the shallow ends of the river in hopes of finding some stray petals flowing through the water. 

December went on with her days as usual, finding plenty of flowers passively, just as she had done her first year in Mistria. March, on the other hand, would nonchalantly keep an eye on the areas near his workstation by day, and head into the narrows or mines to hit them out of some rocks by night. He wanted to win – his ego was on the line, after all – but there was no way in hell he’d allow the others to see it.

Olric once told the farmer that the only thing his brother hated more than birthdays themselves was being ignored on his birthday, especially with the event that took place immediately after. He couldn’t stand feeling overshadowed by the town’s “made up holiday,” as he had brutally dubbed it. That said, when March’s birthday came this year, December wanted to find that fine line for celebrating him where he would feel loved and important, but he wouldn’t get overwhelmed either.

So, she approached the grumpy birthday boy on her way to the mines with two mochas in hand, some sandwiches in her backpack – two to share with March now, and a third for later, when she’d need an extra boost – and a small gift, which was nestled safely under her arm and wrapped in red cloth.

“Goooood morning,” December grinned as she approached the anvil. 

She thought the cheery sing-song tone in her voice would annoy March a considerable but safe amount, so she was surprised to see how calm his face fell when he looked up at her. 

He couldn’t place his finger on why he was so relieved to see her. It wasn’t like his birthday was different from any other day, he lied to himself before wondering why this felt different.

Well, it was his first birthday in a long time with a partner. Maybe that was doing something to him.

He sighed, “Hey,” wiping the sweat from his forehead and placing his hammer down. 

The wall December tended to rest her things against had become the couple’s designated break spot too. When the farmer visited the forge, both in the far past and as they grew closer, they’d oftentimes find themselves leaning or sitting against the stone while they chatted and replenished their energy. Today was no different. Once they were in place, March took both coffees from December’s grasp so she could set down her bag. 

“Thanks,” she said, taking her own mocha back before handing March the present, “aaand happy birthday.” He glared at her. “What?” “Did Olric put you up to this?” “Why the hell would I need Olric to tell me to give you a birthday present?”

March’s eyes narrowed further, but he didn’t make any further accusations, instead taking a sip from his coffee. “Well, thanks.”

“‘Course.” December held out her hand to take March’s drink again so that he could open it.

Taking a quick note at the fabric, which matched his hair almost perfectly, he wondered if December had done that on purpose or not. 

She did. She specifically asked Louis if he could fold a piece into the dress she purchased a few weeks prior. 

March’s eyes widened as he unwrapped from said fabric the most perfect gold ore he’d ever seen. It was shinier than even the highest quality ingots he’d casted, it looked dense, and gods, he couldn’t wait to work with it. He almost didn’t even want to, it was so beautiful. The chunks of perfect ore in the museum — which he’d already been impressed by, and admittedly was even more so upon hearing who their donor was — couldn’t compare. 

March always had a bit of a natural flush to his complexion, but there was something about how it seemed to stand out more when he grinned this time that made December’s heart skip. He wasn’t necessarily blushing, but his face looked brighter. And while March pored over the metal in his hand, December observed the liveliness in his smile, making his dark eyes shine like onyx in the sunlight. The way his teeth ran a little yellowed — probably from all that coffee and chocolate consumption — and slightly crooked between his smooth lips. The softer look of his bare arms while he let himself relax his muscles, which he rarely did around people. The angle and shape of his perfectly groomed, thick eyebrows, sitting above his equally thick eyelashes…

March looked up, meeting December’s blatant stare with a beaming grin. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen him look so sincerely, wholeheartedly happy without alcohol in his system, or a laugh blossoming from his throat. He didn’t even tease her for ogling. 

“How do you even find these?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, “I guess I have an eye for it.”

March rolled his eyes. “Or you’re just lucky to be good at everything.”

“Jealousy makes you look silly.”

“Well, you always look silly.”

December stuck out her tongue at him. March wanted so badly to shove it away with a kiss, but with Errol and Eiland walking past and waving their greetings to the two, he didn’t want to risk any more gossip being thrown around. 

So he glared at them. Eiland remained blissfully unaware and continued to ramble, fiddling with the Breath of Spring fashionably tucked behind his ear for safe keeping; meanwhile, the old curator silently wondered what he’d done to deserve the harsh glance. He knew March was a grump, but jeez, he thought to himself. He frowned while nodding along, still listening to Eiland as they disappeared into the narrows.

March went on, his eyes back on the ore in his hands, “Well…” he directed his sight to December’s again, “thanks.”

“Mhm,” she passively welcomed him as she placed the March’s coffee back in his free hand and bent down to dig through her backpack. She then pulled out a sandwich wrapped in parchment paper and placed it atop his cup. With a more formal tone akin to Adeline and Eiland’s, she added, “And your humble birthday breakfast, my liege.”

March moved to place his gift down on the anvil, and then took his seat in the grass, saying, “Your liege, huh?” 

December nodded, joining him. March’s face looked pink, but smug. “What?”

“I can get used to that.”

The farmer rolled her eyes, then playfully nudged him, “Well don’t.”

__

Once March finished up his work for the day, he decided to set out for the mines. December would probably still be there, but he knew she usually kept to the lower levels now that she had upgraded tools. If he went shallow, he wouldn’t risk running into her.

Or so he thought.

The first thing he saw when stepping off of the wooden, makeshift elevator was December’s pale eyes, wide and confused while she hit the finishing blow on a rock in her path. His expression was no different.

As she opened her mouth to question his presence, a small, slimy creature launched itself onto her cheek. “Eugh!” she expressed her disgust. 

Those guys were never very strong to begin with, but they didn’t hurt her much at all now that she was used to their stronger brethren in the tide caverns and onward. If she was going to be hit by anyone, she’d rather it be them — but she’d never get used to their cold, sticky, and almost slug-like texture. She ripped her assailant off of her face and flung it into a nearby chasm, promptly wiping her gloved hand on her pants.

“What,” she breathed, shifting her headphones to her neck and pausing her mp3, “the fuck are you doing here?”

March’s brain scrambled for a moment, before he deflected, tilting his chin up and narrowing his eyes, “I could ask you the same.”

December matched his posture, placing the hand on her hip for added effect. “I figured I’d search some of the safer floors for more flowers before heading out.” She took a few steps forward to meet him, then egged him on as she pieced together that he was probably doing more or less the same, “Your turn, pretty boy.” 

March flustered a little at the name she gave him and the tone in which she spoke. It wasn’t intentionally sexy, but he wouldn’t have known any better until she told him directly. His eyes widened from their accusatory squint to their normal shape on their own volition as he muttered, “P-pretty boy?” December nodded curtly, blind to her partner’s inner turmoil. 

The blacksmith took a second to just breathe. He couldn't go and get all riled up over something so simple, what with them being several dozen feet underground…

Or could he?

Imagery of December’s soft touch and supple skin standing out in contrast to the rough walls and caverns of the mines came and went through him in a flash.

He mentally scolded himself and shook his thoughts away. December wondered what the sudden movement was for, but didn’t question it. 

Next, March realized he wouldn’t be too embarrassed if she knew why he was down here. Knowing her, she was probably just excited for the competition. Realistically, they both were.

So, March decided, if she’s going to (accidentally) use words to try to distract and destroy him, why shouldn’t he do the same? He resumed his glare and rolled his neck and shoulders, before removing his pickaxe from its spot on his backpack. 

Then, he lilted, “We both know why I’m here,” tilting his head slightly down and her chin up to level their gazes. “So be a good little angel and get out of my w—“

A tiny monster almost identical to the one that had collided with December’s cheek just moments ago did the same to March. His eyes rolled shut and chewed his bottom lip while he otherwise froze in place, wondering, why do these things even exist?

He was positively malding.

December bit her own lip, failing to suppress her laughter as her shoulders and chest shook, shaky breaths coming out of her nose. She had to admit to herself that his plan almost worked. 

Almost.

While March removed that thing from his profile, December walked past, patting him on the shoulder. “Nice try,” she teased, before moving onto the next vein of copper she spotted.

March tossed the creature into the same chasm December had banished her own to before meeting up with her. He lightly bumped her hip with his to scoot her over and started to pick at the same ore.

“Nuh-uh,” the farmer laughed incredulously, “Go find your own rocks to hit.” 

March’s answer was all too nonchalant. “I want this one.”

December cursed under her breath. “Brat…”

She hip bumped him in return before getting back to work, accepting that she couldn’t budge him. Given the strength of their tools, it only took a few more hits each for the mineral, as well as some softer chunks nearby, to crumble. 

Lo and behold, a Breath of Spring appeared atop the rubble. 

The pair froze. For a short few beats, the only sounds to be heard were the soft chirping and pitter-pattering of cave bugs, the faint squelches and clacks and puffs of noxious air from the monsters that lurked below, and the occasional drips of the stalactites around them, their breaths firmly bated while they waited to see who would make the first move.

It didn’t take long for March to grow impatient, though. “…Mine.” 

As he reached for it, December practically tackled him. “No!” she exclaimed, using her last ounce of energy to shove her body into March’s line of sight and jumping forward, abandoning her pickaxe in favor of clinging to him like a feral koala.

“For fuck’s sake—” He stumbled in an attempt to keep upright, wrapping his arms around her and placing a palm to the back of her head for protection, in case they fell. “Are you stupid?!” he asked once they were stable.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” December didn’t budge. “Are you gonna move?”

“Will you take that flower if I do?”

“Obviously.”

“Then no.”

March sighed. She was light enough, he thought. He could work with this. “Hold on tight,” he warned, his smile sly while he crouched down and reached for the prize.

“No!” December jerked her head to peek behind her, her ponytail whipping around March and lightly slapping his opposite eye, to which he thought with a wink, ouch. “Wait—”

To her dismay, the flower was already in March’s hand.

“Too late, pretty girl,” he whispered into her ear. He pressed his lips just below it with a lingering peck for added measure.

Inhaling deeply, swallowing hard, and squeezing March harder, December understood why he reacted the way he had to her own words earlier. 

She slowly turned towards him, her hair tickling his shoulder as it drifted back to its rightful space behind her. He was already looking at her, so their noses were nearly touching when March noticed how his partner’s pupils had engulfed the blue of her eyes in a veil of black, like a whale lurking beneath an arctic ocean’s surface; and as his resolve began to weaken, and the urge to kiss her everywhere he could possibly reach strengthened, he wondered if they really needed these flowers.

“That’s not fair,” December grumbled. 

“What’s not fair is that you’re still attached to me.”

Without a sliver of remorse in sight, she plainly commented, “Hm. What a shame.” She leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, and then his jaw, before trailing a few more down his neck, purring, “Give me the flower, March, please.”

He held his breath, contemplating the entirety of his life leading up to this point; and with a strain in his voice that hadn’t gone unnoticed by his parasite, he boldly refused, “Never in a million years.”

__

The blacksmith’s resilience paid off. The next morning, the results came through as follows:

Celine in first place, obviously,

March in second,

and finally, a sad, grumpy December in third.

[original-character-championship]

Bracket C Round 1

Poll 2

Hellion (@transjackkennedy) vs. Jindřiška Kovářová (@mist-the-wannabe-linguist)

131. Hellion (@transjackkennedy)

he/it/xe/rot

hellion is like really pathetic and toxic. he hit someone in the head with a rock and gave them amnesia because he was gay for them. hes canonically queer. he's a town mystery. he's the aromantic agender disabled rep no one wants. he walks out without paying his diner bills. he just took someone's house and left them to die in the woods and NO ONE noticed. he collects playing cards and pool balls. he's just some guy but if you made that guy terribly bad at understanding his emotions and let him nearly kill someone. he commits tax fraud and is the worst person in town,but at least he respects women. not enough to pay his DINER BILLS for them though. fucking asshole.

hellion is a pale humanoid with a horned sheep skull for a head. xe has a red sweater, tan pants, and a long brown coat. xe also has a stereotypical devil tail with a spade tip.

132. Jindřiška Kovářová (@mist-the-wannabe-linguist)

she/her

Jindřiška, or Jindra for short, is the daughter of the village blacksmith from a small village in Southern Moravia in the 1830s. She and her many siblings grew up around the forge and all were trained in the blacksmiths' art from a young age and Jindra is particularly proud of their trade. But though she loves her home, she longs to get out into the world as a true apprentice like her brothers, and she gets that chance when two rather odd travellers stop by to have their weapons repaired. Monster hunters, they say. Sure, why not - she directs them to a local tormented ghost, and after they help the unfortunate soul find peace and prepare to move on, she decides to join, captured by the promise of adventure. Jindra becomes an invaluable member of the team, as the two are foreigners unfamiliar with local folkloric beasts and human customs alike, she becomes their guide, translator, weapons repairer, and of course a fellow hunter. Things become temporarily a bit complicated on the revelation that one of her new friends is really a vampire and the main reason of their travels is the hope of somehow breaking his curse, but soon enough all three grow to be inseparable companions willing to give their life (if immortality allows) for each other.

A blacksmith by heart and soul, her skill is not limited to the forge and like many other persons of her trade as far as history remembers, Jindra is able to use certain simple spells and hexes, though if anyone asked her, she would deny doing any magic. To her, it's just ""something her da taught her.""

Jindra is almost never seen without her gigantic draft horse Saffron, she loves dance, resorts to making flower crowns whenever she needs to keep her hands occupied and there is no hammer and anvil in sight, has an ever growing collection of colorful ribbons, and as a Catholic, her typical method of facing dangers of the supernatural kind is such - first try the cross, then try the crossbow. She fears few things, but there is one being that is always sure to send chills down her spine. Ever since the tragic loss of a younger sibling, you never find her out in the fields at noon, as she does not want to risk coming face to face again with the one who people call Polednice.

A rather short and strongly built woman with a round face covered with freckles and a long braid of red hair. Typically wears a traditional dress, a way to show where she comes from and to remind her of her home no matter how far she goes. Always wears a little silver cross on her neck, a gift from her grandmother when she was a baby. She considers it her main protective charm.

[mdizzle999872]

Monika Vs Suction Cup Man

Monika hummed quietly to herself as she stacked her club activity forms for the school. The day had been long but surprisingly uneventful. A quiet day was actually very refreshing.

She was about to leave when an odd noise caught her attention. It sounded like it was coming from outside but that couldn't be right. The club room was on the third to fourth floor.

She almost let it be to just leave but curiosity got the better of her. She came to the window but whatever was making the noise she could only tell it wasn't coming from across the street.

Nope. It was definitely closer.

She opened the window and looking down she saw what was making the noise. Seeing wasn't quite the same as believing though because of how absurd it was.

A middle aged man was attempting to climb her high school.

"Excuse me!!" she called out impatiently but politely. "Exactly what do you think you're doing?!"

"Oh gee, I don't know; what does it look like I'm doing?!"

Monika bit her lower lip in frustration.

Was he some new added character? A dlc? Did he even have a character file?

Monika didn't have the answers to any of these questions but she did know one thing.

"Well stop it! You're bothering me!"

"I can't just stop, dumbass! I'm at least three stories up!"

Monika frowned. 'Well there's no reason to be that rude!' she thought.

"Okay, um... I'll go down a floor and then you can just walk out after I open a window."

"That's very polite of you but still fuck you!"

"I... What... Why would you... Just stop!! Or at least turn around!"

"Bitch, I can't stop! I gotta go up and climb the other way down!!"

"Why?!"

"Because fuck you! That's why!"

Monika was starting to get angry now. This 'anomaly' didn't make any sense. She wasn't even sure what his purpose was let alone his....

"Hey!! What's your name?"

"Suction Cup Man!"

'He can't be serious.'

"No. You're REAL name!"

"Dadadada Suction Cup Man!"

"Really? Fine then. Well why are you climbing my school with suction cups?"

"Because I'm Suction Cup Man!"

"Why MY high school?!"

"Why NOT your high school?!"

"Okay!" Monika stomped her foot on the ground. "That does it!" She pointed with her finger and brought up her command prompt.

"Uh oh. Now I pissed her off."

The words "Find Character file: Suction Cup Man" appeared in the search engine. After a moment, text appeared reading "Character file not found."

"Ha. Bitch!"

"What?! But how is that possible?! How can you be here with no character file? How am I supposed to delete you now?!"

"You can't delete Suction Cup Man! I'm way too cool!"

"AAAAAGH!!!" Monika screamed as she grabbed her head in frustration.

"If I can't delete you then I'll just crush you!!"

"Crush me?"

Monika used the command prompt to enter in as many heavy New Items as she could think of.

Suction Cup Man was about to ask what she meant when a piano suddenly fell from the sky, heading right towards him.

"OH SHIT!!!" He leapt out of the way just barely dodging it. "Ha! Missed!"

Monika said nothing but her evil smirk told him everything he needed to know.

"Uh oh."

What followed next was numerous items falling from the heavens to try and hit him. These items included but were not limited to: a filing cabinet, an arm chair, an anvil, an ATM, a couch, a printer, a bench, a vending machine, a car, and just to make it complete... A kitchen sink.

Suction Cup Man moved faster than he ever had in his life as he desperately dodged the items plummetting at him.

"OH SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!"

With his back against the wall, still holding onto his suction cups, he fought to catch his breath as Monika stared at him with utter shock.

"How did you dodge all that?!"

"Fuck you! That's how!"

Monika screamed again but this time a new third party member came to investigate.

"Monika? Is that you? What're you still doing here?"

"Oh! Natsuki. I'm just dealing with a little intruder!"

"Intruder??? We're up on like the third floor! Who could possibly be..."

Natsuki poked her head out the window and saw Suction Cup Man.

"Top of the school to you, Pinky."

"Ah."

The story quickly told itself to Natsuki. "Just delete him. Get it over with. Like you did with my dad."

"I can't! He doesn't have a character file!"

"What?? Then how is he here then?"

"I don't know, Natsuki! But..."

"Wait!!" cried Suction Cup Man. "You're name is Natsuki? As in NUTsuki?"

Natsuki stared open jaw in shock at this man twisting her name in such a way. There was only one way to respond.

"Hey!! Fuck you!!"

"Fuck you too, Nutbar! You are now my new favorite!"

"... Kill him." Natsuki said in such a simple way, there was anger in her voice; she simply believed it was just the best way to deal with him.

"I just tried that."

"Yeah, she literally just tried that. You can't kill Suction Cup Man." ellaborated Suction Cup Man.

"He's agile as fuck. Drives me bonkers."

Natsuki looked between the two of them and then smirked a little.

"Well if you can't delete him then what about his equipment?"

"Pfft! Like what? My climbing grade suction cups?" scoffed Suction Cup Man.

"..."

"... DO IT, MONIKA!!!"

"NUTSUKI, NOOO!!! Why you gotta do me dirty like that?!"

"MY NAME IS NOT NUTSUKI!!!"

"YES IT IS!!!"

While they were arguing, Monika had successfully entered into the command prompt "Delete Climbing Grade Suction Cups"

She smiled victoriously as almost immediately she heard him scream for his life. "That's what you get for messing with the president of the Literature Club, Bitch!"

"Oh. Look at that. He has a little parachute."

"ARE! YOU! KIDDING! ME?!"

Sure enough. Monika spotted him floating peacefully to the ground in a parachute.

"Monika, is that you? Who is that with you?" asked a new voice.

This time Monika was joined by the remaining two members.

"It's just me, Nut-I MEAN NATsuki!"

Sayori and Yuri looked between the two of them with concern.

"Is everything okay?"

"Nothing that isn't a problem anymore, Yuri. He's off the building and that's all that matters. I can go home now."

Natsuki had her head poked out the window watching something.

"Uh Monika? He's reloading."

"What?! That's impossible!! I deleted all climbing grade suction cups!!"

"Climbing Grade? That sounds a little specific don't you think?" asked Sayori.

Monika stared out into space for a moment but the first sound of a suction cup coming off a window made her frantically type into the command prompt to delete every kind of suction cup she could think of.

Sadly it was too little too late. He made it back up to them but now he was covered in rubber cocks. The type that had suction cups on them.

The Literature Club stared at him in silent shocked horror before he yelled out his new identity.

"I'M PENIS MAN!!!"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...Nope." declared Sayori as she clapped her hands. "I'm going home."

"What?! Sayori!!" pleaded Monika.

"Nope! I might have depression but even I gotta draw the line somewhere! I am NOT dealing with someone who calls themselves Penis Man! I am done. I will see you all tomorrow!"

Sayori left but Monika was still fuming.

"What are those things even called?! I'll delete them too!!"

"Hey! I wrote you a song!"

To everyone's surprise he had materialized a guitar out of thin air.

"Don't you da..."

"It goes a little something like this: Penis! Penis! Penis! Penis! Penis! Penis! Penis! Penis!"

"Stop saying 'penis'!!!" shouted Monika.

"Penis!!"

"FUCK!!!" Monika was completely red in the face. Her hands open but at the ready to grab/strangle. "I don't care what it takes, I'm going to get you off my high school!!"

"Um... I could make a stupid suggestion." offered Yuri.

Monika didn't move a muscle but her eyes darted to Yuri, giving her her full attention.

"Well it looks like he just wants to climb our school in it's entirety. Maybe if we just let him then he'll go away. Our school isn't that high so it probably wouldn't take that long."

"Yuri!! That is the most..."

"Wow! You got it in one, Purple Haired Brainiac! That is exactly what I came to do! Climb up one end and then down the other! You are quite the little lady who is not a bitch in any sense of the word!"

Monika's jaw dropped. She looked between Yuri and her intruder.

"Monika, you can't seriously be entertaining this."

"... Natsuki is right! I can't just have you climb all over my school with.... Those!"

"Well I wanted to climb it with suction cups but since you took those away..."

Natsuki placed a comforting hand on Monika's shoulder. "At this point, it's a choice. We could either have him climb our school with cups or with cocks."

"Grrrrrrrrr! FINE!!!" Monika typed into the command prompt to restore the suction cups. "But after this I never want to hear from you again!!"

"Sounds like deal to me, President Dummy!"

In an instant he was back to his old self like when he arrived.

"Hurray! I'm back to being Suction Cup Man!"

_____________________________________________________________

The other side of the school...

Monika had her arms crossed as she grumbled bitterly, an almost childlike pout on her face. "Can't believe I have to put up with with this... Rasin-Frasin suction cups... Grumble grumble... Call me a bitch..."

Natsuki and Yuri were also there but they were actually watching Suction Cup Man patiently.

He was making his way down now and landed with surprising grace. Natsuki and Yuri actually clapped but Monika just pouted more.

"That was actually kind of impressive." admitted Yuri.

"I might be willing to pay money to see him do something like this again on a grander scale. He's still a dick though." agreed Natsuki.

"Fair enough."

Suction Cup Man made his way over to the club, his arms spread eagle as if he had just formed a grand acrobatic feat.

"And there you have it, Ladies and President Dummy. My life's grand purpose!"

Yuri and Natsuki gave him honest praise but Monika just got more bitter.

"There! You did it! Are you HAPPY now?! Can you GO now?!" asked Monika angrily.

"Sure can President Dummy! Not without some goodbyes though!" Suction Cup Man grabbed Natsuki by the shoulders. "My dearest and most beloved Nutsuki."

"It's NATsuki!"

"I know what I said! You must promise me to never ever change your name! It is a gift unto this undeserving world!"

".... Sure! Whatever gets you out of here faster."

He turned to Yuri and shook her hand. "Yuri, you are a bright and elegant young woman who deserves everything the world has to offer."

"Thank... you?"

He moved on to Monika and tried to give her a hug but she used her leg and arm to keep him from touching her. "And President Dummy! You remind me a lot of my Business Dummy back home! Keep being angry, it's HYSTERICAL!"

"Just! Go!"

A clear portal opened up showing it was Suction Cup Man's time to go.

"Welp. There's my ride! I accomplished what I came here to do, climb the building in a video game!!"

"Video ga... Wait! Suction Cup Man, are you trying to say you're from the REAL world?!"

"...Well realer than yours Bow Brain. They had to program in my gear but it worked."

"Wait!! Do you think you could take me with you?!" asked Monika.

"I could... but no."

"Well why not?!"

"Because fuck you! That's why not!"

Without another word he hopped through the portal having it close after him.

Yuri and Natsuki left for home but Monika stayed where she stood. Processing everything that happened, how her worst nightmare could have been her liberation only for it to leave her by her own instance; how she could have escaped the game but was denied for no greater reason than screwing with her. Only one word came to mind to sum it all up.

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!" she sobbed.

The End

[heliosthegriffin]

Shadow Knight and Magic Girls XIV

AO3 Link

Chapter 14

-----

Jaune really wanted to close his eyes. They feel so heavy, like someone had tied anvils to his eyelids. He couldn't take a nap though, not where he could be watched. Uncle-, Big Bear would hear about it.

He had to be a representative of the Xiongs.

He looked down at his test. Jaune hadn't even wrote his name down. What class period was he even in, had he had lunch yet? No. So, it had to be before lunch...

Maybe, he should look at the questions? ... Still no clue. He got up, getting attention from across the room. "Mr. Arc?"

"Just stretching."

"Can it wait until after the test?"

"No."

The teacher gave a frail smile. "Well, I'd much appreciate it if-"

Jaune leaned back, a series of bullet-loud pops echoing across the room. Several students flinched, looking up from the test for the source of the test, others covering they're ears at the sudden noise, and a couple nodded they're head finding the sound oddly pleasing.

"Nevermind." The teacher sat down, and so did Jaune. He started to remember what class he was in. Something something science. Usually he slept through it.

He looked at the questions again. It was asking about chemical change, was he is chemistry?

It was dumbly worded though, bland enough he wish had some salt to put on it.

Still, he knew the answer to this one strangely enough, he had done a lot of experimenting in his early days of monster-fighting, so he knew a bit about chemical change.

It was asking for a example, and he wrote gunpowder, explaining how when a spark hit it, it created a chemical reaction that made a small explosion and smoke.

Jaune nodded to himself.

Reading the rest of the questions, he realize that all of them he sorta of knew the answer too, especially since they all related, to one degree or another, to his experiments.

Once figured out, Jaune handed over his test to the teacher, who took it, reading over it.

Exiting out into the hallway, Jaune made his way down the hallway to find a secluded place to close his eyes for a bit. Turning around the corner, he took a step to the side, as a faunus girl almost walked into him.

She paused mid-step to look at him, eye's going wide. "Wait-"

"Yes?" Jaune paused.

"Um..." She stuttered. "Thank you."

"For what?" Jaune couldn't remember ever-, oh. "Oh the purse. Get everything back? Nothing missing?"

"Yes!" She nodded, her rabbit ears bobbing slightly, Jaune found himself unable to look away from them. "Thanks to you." She noticed his gaze and blushed. "Sorry, I don't want to bother you."

The Xiong heir-to-be shrugged. "It's fine, I was just going to nap. Nothing major."

"Oh!" She brightened up. "Then, you wouldn't mind if I treated you to a drink? My treat?" Her rabbit ears twitched forward, the ends drooping slightly.

He couldn't look away, Jaune realized. So, just slowly nodded.

"Great!" She gave a chirp. Then looked nervously at him. "Oh! I haven't introduced myself. I'm Velvet, Velvet Scarlatina."

"Jaune, Jaune Xiong Arc."

----

"So, do you girls believe in ghosts?" Nora asked the table.

"No. That has no scientific backing." Weiss said firmly.

Her fellow comrades stared her down ruthlessly, with a expression of 'really?'.

"Well, I do." Nora said proudly. "In fact, I've met one or two, right Ren?"

"They weren't ghosts," Ren said flatly. "She found my parents in a ... intimate moment, and they ran hiding under some white sheets."

"Same thing!"

Ren sighed. "No, because my parents are very alive, this happened yesterday."

"OH." Nora hit her palm with her hand. "That's right. Sorry." She looked around the table. "By the way, Jaune. Renny's parents want to know when you're coming by, they miss you!"

There was no Jaune at the table.

"Oh." Nora drooped sadly. "My boy has grown up." Then perked back up. "We'll, I'll just have to find and tell him myself!" Then disappeared in a blur of manic energy.

"Shouldn't you mind that?" Blake asked Ren, who shrugged.

"Jaune can handle that."

Blake nodded. "Do your parents actually miss him?"

Ren smiled. "Yes."

Ruby poked Weiss in the ribs. "So, don't believe in ghosts?" Yang joined in poking her other set of ribs. "Yeah? Don't believe in ghosts?"

Weiss squirmed being poked repeatedly. "Stop that! The idea of ghosts is just so illogical to me."

Pyrrha cocked her head at Weiss. "And? You don't have an opened mind to it, with your own circumstances, it seems even more illogical not to consider it."

"Ok. Point taken. But, that doesn't mean I believe in them."

Ruby laughed. "Gosh, Weiss, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were afraid of them with how much you don't want to be real!"

Weiss looked away, saying nothing.

Yang brightened up. "Oh. This is golden."

Blake peered at Weiss. "So, ghosts?"

"My childhood home was drafty that's all. It pushed doors open, perfectly logical explanation, I'm sure. The cold spots were just because of poor construction. The moans were just echos." Weiss fired off trying to explain it, mostly to herself.

"Geez," Yang chuckled, backing off. "Alright, it's fine. Not like ghosts are going to hurt anyone."

Ruby put a arm around Weiss. "Don't worry, we'll kick any ghost butts that try to haunt you!"

Weiss sighed. "Thank you, Ruby."

Blake looked at Ren. "You didn't say what you think about Ghosts?"

"Neither did you girls."

"I think we're pretty open minded. " Blake said, with all but Weiss nodding.

"Hmm. That's good." Ren sipped his tea. "I'd just say, they're not the strangest things to exist."

------

The door opened, revealing a dark room, Velvet flipped a switch, and Jaune went bug-eyed at the sight. 'There's no way this is real.' He looked around the room, trying to make sense of what he was looking at. 'But, it's here.' He looked at Velvet with a bit of fear.

It was a room entirely of him. As the Shadow Knight, not normal him, thank his ancestors it wasn't. But, all across the room was pictures of his alter ego, boards full of text, rare-video of him being played, and what he could only know as a half-way decent reconstruction of his first costume.

Jaune fought the urge to burn the room to cinders, he looked around, wishing very strongly to have brought a lighter to school. He'd know better from this day forward. Flint and steel, too.

"Excuse the mess," Velvet said meekly, then gestured to a chair. "Take a seat, while I brew some tea." Jaune sat down, staring at he wood, desperate to not see all his pictures, this was embarrassing to a level he didn't know existed.

"Oh, I didn't realize you were that tired." He heard Velvet say, causing him to snap back up. "I don't mind if you drift off for a bit. It'll take a moment to make the tea, anyway."

He was very tempted to do so. However, he decided to not do so. Embarrassing or not, he needed to figure out what the hell this all was. So for the moment, Jaune watched Velvet move around getting the tea leaves and setting the water to boil.

Velvet then took a seat parallel from him, looking shy. "Do you like black tea?"

He wasn't a big tea drinker, but he'd try anything once, foodwise at least. "Yeah, that sounds fine."

"Great." Silence mostly filled the room, other than sound of the water slowly boiling.

"What is all this?" Jaune decided to bite the bullet, gesturing around the room at ... all of that. "It's ... through."

She blushed. "It's not that great, it's just a bit of hobby."

Then he'd hate to see what really caught her interest. He looked at the replica of his old suit on a mannequin. "Yeah, a hobby. We all need one." Jaune watched a video of him decking a someone with Ferrum Vis, his old pipe, he missed it already. The video then showed him running away from the police, that had been a couple weeks ago, wasn't it?

Velvet nodded energetically. "Yep! Well, it's more than a hobby now, but it started out as such." Her ears wobbled. "I have a hard time talking to people. Now's not much better, though. I only really have Coco."

Jaune could understand that. "Yeah, people are strange creatures." Velvet looked down. "Not that you are, just in general." Jaune backpedaled.

"Thanks. But, I know this is weird, but ... I feel so drawn to him. It's like he's more than a man. It's just big thing to solve to me, a puzzle with so many moving parts! It's makes it all the more fun to try and figure it out." Velvet's voice grew in energy as she talked. "Like why does he do it? Who is he? When did he starts? It's all so many questions without answers."

"Maybe, that's for the detectives to figure out." Jaune added neutrally.

Velvet sighed. "I asked them, but they don't care. They have more pressing matters, other than some, and I quote, 'Crack-head bum getting into pissing matches with gang-bangers,'." Velvet frowned, and Jaune fought the urge to pet her. "How rude. But, I guess that's the best I could ask for, at least they didn't turn me away like some would."

That was actually a relief to Jaune. Knowing that police didn't think much of him, which he hoped to keep that way. Though, it did beg the question how much they knew? Maybe, he should take some time to find out?

Big Bear had hardly had any information on the shadow monsters, other than what his family passed down, and what he already knew.

Jaune thought about that book he found, it had mentioned The Moon Lady summoning darkness monsters? This went back several hundred years minimum, and he hadn't managed to cross-reference the story yet, so it's impossible to tell how old it was. It could have very well been written by somebody in the know, or just some guy.

Jaune sighed.

Velvet then misinterpreted this. "I know, right? The lack of interest in the topic is staggering, we have a actual modern day hero going around fighting for us, and no one cares, or hardly knows."

Jaune would fight her on that, given how many people had called to him as the Shadow Knight.

She then looked at Jaune hopefully. "What do you think about it all, Jaune?"

The blonde young man swallowed. "I think ... he's doing his best. Not perfect, but I think this 'Knight' is trying to make the world better, as much as one man can... Even if it kills him."

Velvet's ear's slowly stood up, her eyes widened, and she gave him a wide-happy smile. "I knew it! A good guy like you would surely get it!"

The kettle whistled.

"Let me get that." Velvet said happily, then sat a cup of steaming tea in front of him. Jaune took a whiff of it, it was very floral. Then brought out his lunch-box. It's weight making the table groan as he sat it down.

Velvet looked in shock at what must be a body-builder sized meal. "Wow." Then she looked at the clock. "Oh. I guess it is about lunch-time." Then went and retrieved her own lunch from the back of the room.

------

Yellow flew over the harbor, bored out of her mind. She had to control her power output while she flew, to keep anything sensitive from noticing her. It put her in a bad mood, as her control was by far her weakest trait.

Still, she had promised the rest that she would do her part and parole for a couple hours. It sucked that people were getting killed over here, but it's like all the people at the harbor were upstanding citizens to begin with. She honestly thought, that they're energy was best used going after Grimm Swarms, even if individually they were more than enough to handle that.

Still, flying in circles trying to sense something that might not be there anymore was driving her nuts, she really just wanted to pound some Grimm heads into oblivion.

She looked at the dark sky, realizing it was probably close to midnight now. They usually got done around 1, but sometimes as late as 3. Thankfully, for her beauty-sleep, was one of the perks for being a magical girl, along with Aura, was a reduced need for sleep. Otherwise they'd be useless by daylight.

Though, she still did miss sleeping in.

In the distance she spotted a crimson-glow making its way towards her.

"Hello, Yellow." Crimson greeted her politely.

"Hey, Crimson. Am I done, yet?"

"Indeed you are, feel free to go-" Crimson wasn't even halfway done, before Yellow took off.

"Great!"

Crimson shook her head, and got to patrolling. As a cargo-ship was coming in from the darkness, a heavy and thick fog following in behind it. Orange sparks appearing inside the dark mass only to then disappear.

----

Jaune looked at the rapidly dissolving mass of shadows, then at his ax. It was ridiculously sharp. It had cut through the head of a small shadow-wolf with next to no effort on his part.

It was a big step up from using Spite, the knife had been getting dull, and wasn't very high quality to begin with.

This was going to make combat going forward at lot more efficient.

Taking a breath, he organized his thoughts and controlled his breathing, time to find another one.

He tapped his helmet. "Hey, girls. Anything on your end?" The twins were sitting back at the van keeping a eye out, ready to take pot-shots at anything that got too close.

'Nope.' Miltiades answered.

'Nothing of interest.' Her sister also responded.

"Alright, then."

Jaune went on a stroll, trying to see if he sense any more of them out tonight. But, so far, other than a few stragglers, it had been unusally quiet tonight.

Which would be fine with him, if not for the feeling of dread collecting in his stomach.

He stopped moving, feeling a chill down his back, and looked behind him.

There was a girl with pink and brown hair staring at him from the other end of the alley, she had a parasol over her shoulder, and looked amused.

Jaune stared back. She smiled, and then gave a 'follow me,' motion before running off. He had a bad feeling about her.

He followed anyway.

She was fast, hardly able to keep up, as she practically danced in the air in front of him. It was unnerving. But, he kept pace, running for what must have been ten minutes, with her not even straining.

Then she stopped abruptly, as they rounded in front of a store that had been broken into. A dense heavy fog was surrounding the store, as from within two large, lumbering shadow-wolves scooped up in they're clumsy arms whatever valuables they could, before venturing back into the fog.

Jaune stopped, looking in utter confusion at the sight, trying and failing to figure out what the hell was going on. Analyzing the beasts, before noticing a single glowing sigil on they're heads.

That of a Fox.

He looked back at the girl, then sighed, as she was gone. He looked at the store, and the retreating shadow-wolves disappearing into hardly-visible shapes in the fog.

"Well, well, well." A cocky voice came from above him. "Look who we have here?" Jaune looked up to see the vague-shape of girl glowing yellow, and felt his heart start beating rapidly. "What brings you round these parts, mister Shadow-Knight?"

"Wait-" He didn't get a chance to finish.

"'Cause, it looks like to me that you're robbing the place! Well, whatever, I've been itching for round two for a week now!"

[koipalm]

1:34.

Myeol stares at the blinking alarm face in the kitchen. Technically he has to go home. Technically he has to get some sleep before another day of work, has to board a bus or the subway or a taxi and find his way to his barren apartment, where he’ll eek out two or three hours of sleep before waking up again and then staring at the ceiling before getting up to exercise, and then shower, change, and head over to Phill’s office.

But he’s standing in Phill’s kitchen, drinking a glass of milk, staring at the clock. He knows he needs to leave, to go before Phill realizes he stayed the night without sleep and just wandered around his house like a ghost. Not that Phill will mind that much, probably. For anyone else, he would be freaked out and angry, and demand for them to leave his house before throwing them out with a kick to the ass and a door in their face. For Myeol, he’ll probably start out being angry, then frustrated, and then just exasperated, and then Myeol will probably borrow some of his clothes and then they’ll start a new day troubleshooting, just like that.

That Phill doesn’t really have a problem with Myeol being here, at his house, is the point. Because Myeol has stayed over a dozen times already, on the couch or even in Phill’s bed from injuries, and Phill hasn’t done much either than nag the hell out of him. But it would, granted, be a little weird for someone if their employee didn’t leave the house when they told them they were going to bed, which was two hours ago, and said employee instead just hung around until morning without sleeping, like a stalker. But it’s 1:34 am, and Myeol can’t fucking get to sleep because he can’t bring himself to leave and go home like a normal person, and he also can’t bring himself to just suck it up and sleep on the couch either. Neither option sounds appetizing when his head’s been pounding like a blacksmith’s anvil, even with medicine, and his hands are shaking so badly that he has to regularly set his mug on the counter and stare at them until he feels like he can pick it up again. He’s been doing this for two hours, ever since Phill went to sleep, ever since he should have left and gone home.

This time, when his hands shake and jostle the milk in his mug so badly it almost slips, he leaves it on the counter and tears his eyes away from the clock and turns towards Phill’s bedroom. Phill’s not the deepest sleeper, but Myeol is even quieter on his feet, so he quietly pushes the door open and steps into the threshold between the bedroom and the living room. Something clenches unconsciously in his jaw when he sees the careless way Phill is sprawled in his bed, one hand behind his head and the other on his stomach, sleeping as soundly as can be. There’s something about the peacefulness of it, even knowing that he sleeps with a gun under his pillow, that makes Myeol’s head hurt even worse. The peace of mind that Phill has, to sleep so soundly and comfortable, like they weren’t just in a firefight mere hours before, like he doesn’t have multiple healing cuts and bruises, like the bullets fired at him were feathers out of a down pillow instead of projectiles that could kill him if just one hit.

Myeol is not bothered, at this point, that he also wears a bulletproof vest now, that he was also shot at. He took measures to conceal his body, to take better cover, to mind his goddamn steps. Phill has never treated his mortality as something so precious. Myeol always has. He’s too used to it not to. If that bastard can’t do it himself, then Myeol will worry about him, for his safety and health and life, because no matter how much he likes or dislikes the man, how uncomfortable with his morals and standards he is, he cannot just let go.

They are, after all, the same.

And Myeol is so, so tired of being alone.

Even if Phill is using him, even if his plans are worse than sinister, the feeling of being cared for, of his safety being in question, feels like stepping into warm water. It feels like a cool balm on burning cuts, an ice pack on bruises, like the healed scar on the back of his head. This, Myeol thinks, is probably what doping feels like. When was the last time in his years that he tripped and fell and saw the ground rushing towards him, and someone caught him? How addicting, care is. He thinks that if Phill ever gets rid of him, if for some reason everything just doesn’t work out and they go their own ways, he will never, ever feel this way again. There is no comfort in the world that can compare to someone knowing you, and caring despite what they have seen.

For a second, he imagines doing what he wants to. He imagines crawling into bed with him, laying under the sheets and curling into Phill’s arms and ignoring whatever ruckus Phill might make, and going to sleep right there, with someone who knows him holding him. He stares, and he stares, and his hands shake and his head hurts, and finally he turns himself around and leaves, and he goes to sleep on the couch.

-

Phill wakes up. He stares wide-eyed at the ceiling for a while and then lifts his arm to check his watch. 2:45. Why the goddamn hell is he awake. He has not had nearly enough time to rest after such a harrowing day, and he fucking deserves it after the heart attack Meyol almost gave him when he threw Banachet out of the way and nearly took a bullet through a lung if not for the bulletproof vest Phill’s now been having him wear. Fuck. Just thinking about it is gonna give him brain damage. Tossing his head back to his pillow, he drags his hand down his face, and he gives up trying not to think about Myeol and instead starts wondering if Myeol got home okay, or if somehow their combined shitty luck means that he got jumped on the way there and is now in a dumpster or under 500 feet of water. Fuck. That’s not fucking better.

Phill shoves himself out of bed with a huff, stalking out into his living room in just his pajama pants to watch some shitty mortal-era movies to put himself to bed. But he doesn’t get to do that, because he freezes while rubbing his neck with his mouth open, staring at his couch like a fucking idiot, because Myeol is sleeping there, curled up like a cat. On his couch.

Myeol, who didn’t leave, Myeol, who instead of waking him up and asking for a blanket or an escort home is now sleeping on his couch, because he never left.

Something in Phill’s head says the words, Thank god. He never left. He stayed right here. Myeol didn’t go home, he chose to stay in Phill’s home and sleep on the couch instead of going back to his own apartment, his own bedroom.

Now, that something in Phill’s head says, how do I get him to stay forever?

Phill doesn’t listen to that something in his head, because whatever thoughts he may or may not have had upon seeing Myeol sleeping on his couch (again) are irrelevant and not to be trifled with. Phill is not an idiot, and so he refuses to think about his thoughts because his thoughts make him look like an idiot, which he is not.

Instead, he stands there and he stares at the way Myeol is curled up in his sleep, with his thighs drawn up and his arms pressed in and his hands around the sides of his head like he’s trying to stop his brain from leaking out of his ears. Suddenly, impossibly, Phill knows that whatever loneliness he has suffered in his life is nothing like what Myeol has gone through, and is nothing like what he still goes through, despite Phill’s presence in his life.

Phill does not feel sadness, or anger for others, but if he did, it would probably feel something like how he feels right now.

And because Phill does not feel sadness or anger for others, he picks Myeol up gently and tells himself that it’s for his own personal benefit, that he’s trying to make Myeol more comfortable so that he’ll stay. He repeats this in his head while he’s lying Myeol down in his own bed, while he rolls his eyes at the fact that Myeol is wearing Phill’s sweats but didn’t grab a blanket, and he tells himself this when he tucks them both under the covers together.

Despite all his insistent thinking, though, he still lets out a short puff of breath when he tucks Myeol’s head under his chin and Myeol’s hands unconsciously move to rest against his collarbone and his ribs.

This, that something in his head says, is what being known feels like.

He falls back asleep like that, tucked around Myeol and held in return, and he doesn’t dream at all.

[solaneceae]

grief

a team bolas oneshot (read on ao3) written before green team was split between red and blue, so in this they all died. angst with a side of family comfort. tw: blood and gore, temporary character death, self-inflicted burns

Pac wakes with a deep ache inside his chest and at the back of his mind — like a fresh, open wound that’s still bleeding. He reaches out, for the comforting hum of his soulmate’s sleeping mind on the other side, and finds nothing.

He doesn’t understand. But he also does. He’s surprised he’s not immediately breaking down screaming, but maybe he’s been broken for a long time and just didn’t notice until now.

He finds Pierre and Bad, busying themselves at the anvils. And he asks.

(Nothing, he has nothing, Richas missing, Cellbit insane and on the hunt for him, Forever dead, Mike dead, Bagi dead, Felps still MIA.

Fit.

Fit’s gone. Fit has died hating him.)

“I see,” he says, numb and empty.

And he draws out his sword.

When Red Team wakes the next morning, some of them are still holding onto hope. Hope that it was all a lie, hope that Green would merely be dissolved, its members assigned to the two remaining teams.

Hope is a cruel, fickle thing. And it dwindles fast in the minds of team Bolas as the hours start to trickle by, with no sign of any green-tinted name popping up on the global chat. Even faster when Carré comes back from recon, reporting the disappearance of Green’s spawn barrier as well as their mission NPCs.

The silence within their cave is deafening, only broken by the sound of a hammer hitting red-hot metal over the anvil. Some of them just check their comms obsessively, fraying minds tethering between denial and a complete breakdown. 

Cellbit hasn’t moved an inch since he woke up, sitting up at the center of their shared nest with absolutely nothing in his icy, blue slitted eyes as they stare at his commlink. At the last messages he’d sent to Roier, still unanswered. (His husband is gone. His sister is gone. His best friend, his President is gone. He has nothing left, and his tongue tastes like unspilled blood.)

Phil is looming over a crafting table, mindlessly placing and removing materials with no rhyme or reason. (Étoiles is gone, his best friend and brother in arms, his devil-may-care attitude, his humor, his fearless smile. Fit’s gone, his shameless flirting and unwavering determination. Forever. Forever. Kristin is eerily silent.)

Jaiden sits in a faraway corner, sharpening her sword until the edge can slice the very empty space between atoms. (Roier taught her. He taught her so much. She would make him proud.)

Charlie is off near the ovens, baking bread after bread after bread in a compulsive act of self-soothing that doesn’t quite work. (He thinks of his bitch wife, and hopes he’ll be smart enough to stay asleep today.)

Baghera’s shaking, huddled close to her fellow avian and mentor as she watches him work without really processing it, the crow’s hand occasionally tapper on her arm to keep her from ripping her feathers off. (She thinks of her brother. Her stubborn, annoying baby brother and his cursed bleeding heart. His hair had been cut so short, she’d been wanting to take a moment to even it, maybe style it a little even. She thinks of Pierre, and feels hatred. She thinks of Badboy, and feels betrayal.)

Foolish straightens up, rolls his shoulder as he admires his handiwork. (He thinks of his adopted son, and remembers why Bad always told him not to get attached to mortals. But Foolish never listens, and never will, despite how much it hurts every single time.) “It’s ready,” he drones out, catching the attention of everyone present. Phil turns to him, expression set in stone and unreadable. “Let me see.”

Team Bolas congregates around their leader, slightly bowed in something like reverence as he walks past them towards the shark-totem. Foolish grins, mirthless and cold, as he hands him a metal stick. The head of it is adorned with a strange shape, still reddish from heat. “Good job,” the Angel of Death nods, eyes and hands stained black as a few stray plants and roots wither away under his feet. His flock shivers like a single entity, all of them fastening their masks over weary, tear-streaked faces. Foolish whistles, spinning the branding iron like a majorette would their stick. “Thanks, Crowfather sir! Wanna do the honours?” Foolish chirps.

Philza Minecraft nods, silently letting his robe fall off his shoulders, exposing his naked back. “Let’s do it quick,” he says, looking over each of his fledgelings, who bow their heads in unwavering loyalty. “Today, we don’t let them rest. Not for a second. Doesn’t matter how many times they kill us, we swarm them, again and again. We, teach them pain.” He feels the heat of the furnace on his back as he sits before it, Foolish humming a cheery tune as he pokes at the blazing inferno inside. “Baghera, how many chainsaws did you make?”

The duck tilts her head. He can see her red-tinted eyes through the mask, and they crinkle in vindictive joy. “More than enough,” she coos, and Jaiden bumps her mask against hers, hello, clean, flock, hello. Phil croons out a yesyes. “Good. Very good.” He beckons her over, runs his claws through her hair-feathers lovingly. “You’ve become stronger. I’m proud of you. All of you.”

“Thanks Dad,” the duck hybrid whispers, preening under the praise. “Get ready,” Foolish warns. Phil doesn’t wince, doesn’t brace himself. Doesn’t care. “Jaiden,” he says, and the conure chirps in acknowledgment. “Taunt them. Trick them. Use every dirty tactic you can think of, I don’t care, this is no longer a fight. It’s retribution. Carré,” he turns to the warrior in the cat onesie, “I trust you. Put the fear of you in their hearts.” Carré gives a salute, sword gleaming in the dim light of their den. “Charlie, Foolish, literally go apeshit. Now’s the time.” Foolish laughs, eager, and Charlie’s codified parts glitch in anticipation. “Cellbit.” and the detective perks up. Phil flashes him a cruel smile. “Do what you do best,” he declares, and the Brazilian looks like Christmas came early.

Then red-hot iron slams against the skin of his back, and Phil lets out a gasp as his flesh starts to sizzle and burn. His talons dig deep into his own thighs in an attempt to distract himself from the pain, and the air smells like cooking meat. Cellbit starts howling first, the last of his sanity breaking when the smell hits his nostrils even through the mask, pupils dilating — like a shark smelling blood. The rest of them soon join in, screeching and laughing, too loud, too high-pitched and broken. Then Foolish removes the iron, and Philza almost falls over under the mixture of pain and relief. The rest of the flock rush over to support him, glancing at the result of Foolish’s hard work with barely disguised awe.

Angry red lines, bloody and bubbling, form the simplified shape of a gas mask right between the mangled remains of his ebony wings. A symbol of loyalty, devotion, belonging. (Pack, flock, family, murder.) “How’s it look?” the crow wheezing out, somehow still mustering the strength to make a joke out of his own agony. Jaiden flashes him a thumbs up. “Nice.”

“I want to go next,” Baghera pipes up, wings twitching with anticipation. Foolish nods, letting the others help Philza wobble away to let him recover for a minute. “Alright. Get over here then, sister.”

(There is no coming back after this, they all know that. Those marks would be here to stay, because self-inflicted scars don’t get erased by respawn, as some of them had found out over time. They all count on it.)

***

The trip is like a blur, partly because of the pain making their vision go hazy and, partly because the sky is red red red and it makes their minds fuzzy and time all wibbly-wobbly.

Charlie remembers hot desert sun hitting his shoulders and colouring them an angry red, Carré taking off his hood to breathe properly. He remembers Foolish carrying them through a freezing river, ice-cold water a temporary balm against the fresh burns in the center of his chest. (He doesn’t regret it. The pain is worth it. And the code infection is so cold, cold cold, the blazing heat radiating from the brand mark is almost soothing in comparison.) He remembers Baghera, limping the whole way, yet refusing any help. Pushing herself further than she ever has to keep up with them. Refusing to be a burden, refusing to drag them down. “I’m fine,” she would say, brushing her feathers over the mark on her right hip. “I’m fine.”

The sky is red, everything is. The blood-fog rolls in, or maybe it’s the toxic gas disaster. They can’t tell, with the masks that keep them breathing and tinted lenses painting the landscape crimson. They press on, helping each other whenever one falls, because their armors might be shit still despite yesterday’s grind, and they might have nothing. But they have each other.

When they finally find Blue, it doesn’t quite feel like catharsis. Not yet. All seven of them loom over their location - Pierre, Bad, Tubbo. (A shame. A shame he was here. He’d tried, they all knew that. But it hadn’t been enough.) They can’t see Pac anywhere, but given the few death messages that popped into global chat earlier, Phil can take a guess at what happened. (Note to self: extend an invitation to the Brazilian later.) No words are exchanged (quiet, quiet, don’t get spotted), only quick glances and flexing talons and flashes of teeth hidden beneath rubber masks. The sun hits their backs (it hurts, for Phil and Cellbit, who has chosen to place his own brand in the small of his back. He’s forsaken armor for this, he wants to feel every slash and tear, he wants to feel something, anything), their shadow-cast silhouettes stark against the red skies.

(They are pack, scavengers. They are eager to sink their teeth into writhing flesh and sharpen their claws on picked-clean bones.)

Philza raises an arm when Bad spots them, immediately barking out orders at Pierre and Tubbo, who doesn’t look like much of a leader at the moment. (What a shame. He deserved better.) The flock tenses, talons and claws digging into loose dirt, eerie growling and giggling and Charlie’s eager ‘how about now? can we go, please, dad?’

The Angel of Death looks down as his children. He lets his arm fall, and six shadows take off and rush downhill in a cacophony of barks and howls and cackling, hyena-like laughter.

Cellbit can see nothing at all, blinded by burning demon blood in his eyes, in his mouth, in his hair and beard. His knife digs into something soft and warm, someone screams, doesn’t know who. Something trips him and his head hits the ground, stunning him, and a sword stabs him in the shoulder and he laughs, ripping it out to roll away, uncaring of the copious amount of blood he’s losing. He hears the revving of an engine nearby, and wipes the blue liquid out of his eyes just in time to see Baghera slice at Pierre with her chainsaw, severing bone and tendons from his left shoulder to his right hip. Blood and viscera fall out of the gaping wound as he chokes, impossibly blue eyes widening, and then his body falls and the chime of death-respawn rings out over the battlefield. One. 

“First kill!” Carré woops, blocking strike after strike from a hissing Bad. “My turn now,” he grins, feral and they all know he’s the only human here how could a human feel so much like them, and his legs do a thing none of them can comprehend but he’s behind the demon now, thrusting his blade forward and into a groove in the fiend’s diamond armor. Chime. Bad falls, dead before his body hits the ground. Two. The Argentinian Beast swipes to the side, ridding his blade of sickly blue liquid. His sleeve creeps back up his arm, revealing the bottom of their symbol. “Mejórate, noob.”

“Oh SHIT!” Jaiden cackles, busy carving out the inside of Tubbo’s ribcage like a halloween pumpkin. “Carré’s out for blood, we love to see it.”

“Where’s Pac?” Cellbit grumbles, teeth around someone’s liver. Foolish rushed back from respawn, waving at them cheerfully, and bodies an incoming Pierre to the ground to bash his head against a rock until his skull gives and splits in half like a watermelon. “Uuuuh, dunno! Why, wanna eat his other leg?”

“Maybe.”

“Be nice,” Baghera pouts, beak splattered in red as she discards her broken saw, only to summon a fresh one from her inventory. She looks down at it with motherly fondness. “He did kill Bad earlier. And he lost Mike, and my brother. I say we leave him be.”

“Mmmh. Careful, here comes BitchBoy.”

“Oh, hello,” the duck chirps, evading a strike from Bad’s scythe. “Did you miss me, Bébou?” she giggles, thrusting her saw forward and cutting through the demon’s armor like it’s butter. Bad lets out a frustrated what the FUDGE before the blades pierce through the enchantments and through his belly. Chime. “I don’t know if I missed you,” she hums, throws her machine away, summons a new one. “I’m still thinking about it.”

Jaiden howls at her, Foolish barks, and all of them devolve into throat-tearing screams as their clothes soak up all the red, red above, red below, red, red. Philza climbs up a tower and swoops in, deadly precise, skewers another Tubbo that just showed up. “You should really give it a rest, mate,” he hums without an ounce of aggressivity, sitting on the lad’s chest as he wheezes out his last breath. “You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be.”

“Can’t—” the goat hybrid chokes, bloody foam bubbling out of his mouth as his lungs fill up with fluid. “I’m. Tina. Nikki, Missa.” The name makes Phil blink. “Can’t… abandon them.”

“Suit yourself,” the Crowfather shrugs, then plants his blade into his former protégé’s neck with nary a sound. Chime.

Chime. 

Chime. 

Chime. 

They don’t always win, far from it. Chime . But they don’t care, losing themselves in the cycle of fight-kill-die-respawn-run-fight. Chime. Even when their resources run out, when they have nothing left but their own hands to fight with, they still come, again and again, moved by the collective desire to make them pay. They get less and less kills, armors and weapons gone, their own bodies piling up in a grotesque display. Chime. Chime. Chime. Blue Team tries to run and hide, but Jaiden and Foolish sniff them out like a pair of bloodhounds, always on their tail as the rest of the flock follows. The hours trickle, too slow yet too fast, and Blue is now winning because they kill them a lot more often than Red kills them, but they don’t give a single shit about that stupid bar made up but a stupid eyeball thing that they are done entertaining because THEIR FUCKING FRIENDS AND FAMILY ARE DEAD.

They rip, and tear, and bite when nothing else works anymore. Everything hurts, repeated respaws and the brand mark making their bodies stumble and fall and shake and seize against the cold dirt, making them easy targets. But they keep fighting.

Cellbit starts crying at some point, tears washing off the blood in twin lines on both his cheeks, and he repeats his husband’s nickname like some fucked up mantra as he stabs into Pierre’s chest over and over again, the engineer long dead. Yet he still keeps going, until Phil gently tears him away from the body to press his own bloody forehead against the Brazilian’s, letting him cling to his robes like the crow’s his last anchor to the mortal plane. Foolish and Jaiden come back, huffing, saying they’ve lost track of their target, and everyone stands still for a moment.

Phil’s commlink buzzes. He glances at it, spots something blue, turns it off. No more parlé, no more talks. “I think they’re done for today,” he sighs, helping Cellbit to his feet. “Let’s go back.”

“To the den?” Charlie asks, ripping off his mask to shake off stray pieces of viscera before putting it back on. His entire body is soaked in red, but Phil can spot some green beneath it. His code arm glitching erratically, but he barely seems to feel it. 

Philza nods. “To the nest.”

“Can we burn?” Baghera asks. Her voice is shot, just like after an intense session of karaoke. “I don’t wanna walk back. I wanna burn.”

“Me too,” Jaiden raises her hand, Charlie following suit. “Oooh, we should all do it,” the conure gasps, already piling up dead wood and whipping out her flint and steel. “It’s like a warpstone! But crispier.”

Maybe Phil should discourage that. But his bad knee hurts like a motherfucker, and what’s a little more agony after today. “Sure, fuck it.”

The pier lights up their surroundings as they dance their way into the flames, hot coal burning the soles of their feet. They briefly wonder if this is what witches did back in the day, before their last hearts are drained and they fall into the space-between-spaces, respawn mechanic spitting them out the other side and into the damp coolness of their cave-home-nest-den.

Their wounds are gone, as always. But not the brand, still pulsing with dull pain on each of their bodies. They all put ice on it, mechanically, minds already far away as their timer nears its end for the day.

None of them bother to clean up before it hits zero. The pack huddles into the nest together, blood-sticky and shaky and Cellbit is still sobbing, Jaiden’s arms around him while she croons and chirps, avian words eaten up by her own hiccuping sobs ( help, sad, sad, flock) , Charlie rubbing soothing circles into the cat hybrid’s back as he wails. Carré whispers praise and fighting tips to Baghera’s who’s only half-listening, wrapping up Dad’s sprained wing in a makeshift splint. Foolish sits close, humming absentmindedly as he finger-combs the knots and bits of flesh out of Jaiden’s long hair. “...You guys wanna move to Eggxile with me?” Charlie asks, drowsy and sluggish, Baghera’s hand-wing in his code-infected one. “When we go back. You can- you can take care of Flippa with me, if… you know. If this shit doesn’t work out.”

Jaiden laughs, wet and unstable. “I’d love that actually.”

“Your house has fumes in it,” Cellbit adds, so quiet it’s hard to make out. “I like that. It’s homey.”

“We can keep the masks there, it’s perfect,” Baghera approves, and Phil finds himself considering it because Charlie’s ramshackle house might be turning into code shit, but at least it’s far away, safe, away, away, and he doesn’t know if he can trust anyone outside his flock after this. Not stay on the wall, where everyone and their dog can show up unannounced. “Maybe,” he says.

Then their comms buzz, darkness claiming them quick.

[inaconstantstateofchange]

Hellsbound Hearts Hellsbound Hearts Hellsbound Hearts Hellsbound Hearts Hellsbound Hearts chanting

well i certainly can't ignore a ritual summoning so-

concept for this was sparked by this incredible art by @/feyspeaker

the general conception is that the romance novel cover vibes are the result of a meta-narrative karlach and dammon build together as a fantasy, where they actually met in avernus and she chivalrously saved him etc. etc. my end goal is for it to have three chapters, one exploring their interactions in each act, and focusing a lot on the non-physical aspects of their connection and prolonged foreplay - especially in act one, for obvious reasons.

i have a really slow and ponderous writing method that usually starts out with bullet points that grow into a more fleshed out draft, that then undergoes several rounds of edits, and i started this concept right before i got really sucked into writing for raphael, so it's still at the bullet point stage, haha. i guess it's still a valid look into the writing process?

Dammon getting flustered having the Fury of Avernus Karlach just chilling at his shoddy forge setup, poking around at the shitty gear he’s managed to fold together

Internally: this is not how I wanted this to go, I promise I can do better!

She starts getting real nosy and finds a folded, extremely dog-eared paperback book, cover mostly torn. 

He’s been trying to push down his nerves by focusing doggedly on his work at the forge, so doesn’t notice until he hears a slight shift of paper followed by a delighted crow.

He always runs a bit warm, doesn’t usually feel the cold too much - although the balmy weather in the grove feels almost cold to him some mornings after the blazing, pervasive heat of Avernus – but he is immediately hit by a wave of cold dread as he realizes what she’s found (that he would really rather she not). 

He drops his tools onto the forge – with due care, albeit not much due – and spins in her direction, hands held up in a pacifying gesture. 

His frantic rush of an explanation is cut off by Karlach’s “Dammon, you degenerate! Good on you for keeping it out of sight of the kiddies, though,” followed by a truly excessive wink.

He stutters, trying very hard to regain his cool – it’s Karlach, he’d die if she thought him an idiot – and tries to protest that it’s not what it looks like. 

Karlach throwing her head back and laughing as she lounges – devastatingly attractively, he forgets to breathe for a moment – on one of the crates lying around his workspace. 

“I may not have the focus for ‘em myself, but you’re damn sure I know what these sorts of covers mean.”

He just stares at her, at a loss for a moment, flushing deeper and deeper, before he spins around and sets back to work, staring with intent focus at his anvil and absolutely nothing else.

[on-till-morning]

The Final 15 Min: You’re a dark horse Mr Fell

Or: Azirawhy?

I’ve spent the better part of this weekend in bed with my cat, drinking cocoa, rewatching scenes from GO and reading and writing thousands of words of s2 meta, so first of all, thank you again Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaimon and this incredible fandom - you’re all geniuses and as a result I am literally living the dream. Secondly, after writing and rewriting my own extremely long meta a dozen times I’ve decided instead to link to the other metas that have essentially already said everything I wanted to say and condense my comments beneath them. I’ve also added my theories for season 3 based on my analysis of s2. However, despite my best intentions and having just using the word ‘condensed’ this turned out to be pretty long anyway, so you can find all this and more under the jump below.

My favorite possible explanations for the ending:

1) Aziraphale is lying to protect Crowley

I first found this theory here and here

And then it’s brilliantly explained with great attention to detail here. This piece includes SO many details that I had missed from the convo, referencing back to scenes from s1 as well as 2. Hats off and round of applause to this author. Just, wow.

I love this theory so much and a part of me wants it desperately to be canon - it explains away all of Azirphale’s foot-in-mouth shortcomings and cringey to downright horrifying wtf moments from the final scene, but after watching the final scenes 26495362893 times I’m landing more on the side that:

2) Az is being expertly manipulated by Metatron, and these shortcomings are all of his character flaws coming up and out in one horrible regurgitatation.

Extremely detailed and thorough multi piece meta going into exactly how Metatron is manipulating him and why it works here.

Briefer but also clear and thorough single post essay here.

3) Or some combination of the two.

Again, having watched this countless times I just do not buy that every single think Az says in the final scene is part of a master plan to deliberately break up with Crowley, but I do think

He’s as scared as he’s relieved/excited

And I don’t know if he’s actually relieved/excited but he’s definitely confused, surprised and increasingly panicked when Crowley insults him, turns down the offer and leaves, which is part of why I don’t think it’s entirely option #1

He is trying to stop the love confession or at least delay it for another time when Metatron is not standing right outside the door (hold that thought!)

And finally there are some lines that just don’t make sense, even from the angel who we’ve heard spout all kinds of nonsense about how “I am good and you are, unfortunately, evil.” Yes, I might buy that he might still think heaven is ultimately good and “the side of light” that’s just been run very poorly by “bad angels” who aren’t as good as Aziraphale at knowing what god really wants in the situation (as he tells himself in the Job episode). But “I’ll run it and you can be my second in command.”???? A blank stare at “if heaven ends life on earth it’ll be just as dead as if he’ll ended it”??? However, this brings me too…

The character arc we didn’t see

I love this post about expectations as a fandom and what we’re actually shown versus what we as ravenous shippers want and expect to see and couldn’t agree more.

What were we actually shown about Aziraphale and where he’s at with his repression and denial? Right in episode 1 Jim says “You know what it’s like when you don’t know anything at all and yet you’re totally certain that everything would be better if you were near one particular person?” and Aziraphale panics, jumps upright and begins backing away frantically while saying “NO. I have no idea what that feels like. What makes you say that?”

We haven’t seen Aziraphale have his come to Jesus moment yet (pun intended) in season 2. While we get to see Crowley hit over the head with the ‘holy shit this is romantic love’ anvil, Aziraphale has a different realization coming and we’ve already been told what it will be.

It’s not “they look at each other and realize they were made for each other.”

It’s “they realize they had misunderstood each other.”

I think in many ways Aziraphale is already unconsciously acting like they are a couple, possibly more so than Crowley, but we don’t see him acknowledge his feelings out loud. We see his evolution through the 3 mini episodes to go from everything is black and white to life and Crowley and even himself are made up of shades of gray, but apparently that wasn’t enough to finally seal the deal for his ultimate “realize they had misunderstood each other” moment, otherwise the season wouldn’t have ended the way it did. Despite how far he’s come he hasn’t fully yet come to terms with his deeply rooted belief that demons=bad or mostly bad and angels=good or at least better than demons. I think that those beliefs showed their face in the worst possible way during that final argument, and that’s part of why Crowley was such a hard no to the whole situation. It’s not just a no to going back to heaven as an angel, it’s also ‘I can’t believe you still think that way about me.’

I don’t, however, think Metatron knew things would go that deep. I don’t think he knows either of them very well at all, but he knows Crowley would never go back to being an angel and he felt confident enough to manipulate Aziraphale (once on his own) into proposing just that and then he pushed them together before Aziraphale could process anything and stood back and let the explosion happen.

There are a couple very well written posts already out there about how the problem is not so much miscommunication as it is fundamentally not agreeing, how deep down Aziraphale doesn’t like that Crowley is a demon and still thinks of him as the angel he was, and how Crowley twisted the knife in Aziraphale’s insecurities that I think all add up to spell out this story really well. To this I’ll add, I think they both condescend and in ways look down on each other. While still being very much in love. I want to keep this short so I’ll try to stick to one example: in the Job episode Crowley said “you’re an angel, you can’t be tempted” while obviously tempting him (“you’re an angel, I don’t think you can do the wrong thing”) which is gentle but also mocking, because Crowley is literally tempting him in that moment. Then there’s times when he’s less gentle (“how could someone so clever be so stupid?”). From Aziraphale we have endless examples of his “holier than thou” attitude. Yes I think some of it is part of their coded-spy-talk but when you say and behave a certain way for years let alone eons even if some part of you knows you’re joking it becomes real.

To sum up - in season 2 we got our realization that they were made for each other from Crowley for sure and maybe from Aziraphale - I mean, those were a LOT of heart eyes in the bookshop before Metatron arrived and the whole grabbing his arm thing when B talks about finding something better than choosing sides. But the realizing they’ve misunderstood each other is what we’ve been set up for in season 3 and I think the misunderstanding is on both sides.

Final thoughts:

The coffee or death metaphor as literal - YES. Both in the first time we see it where Michael is threatening death and Metatron arrives to offer coffee, and secondly when Aziraphale asks “where would I get my coffee” (I.e. not die) and Metatron answers by not answering and saying instead (summarized) “we know you’ve partnered with Crowley, come to heaven and he can be an angel again and you can work together - that’s where you’ll get your “coffee” (as opposed to the (false) other option which is death).

I don’t feel like enough’s been said about the final scene with Metatron in the elevator. His whole body sighs as if in relief and he gives Aziraphale A Look.

This whole body sigh sigh says to me “thank fuck I finally got this gd angel in the gd elevator” and the final look over at him seems to have a taste of “what trouble is this idiot going to cause me next?”

Oh Metatron, you have no idea 😈. Because Aziraphale is definitely planning something, from the second he heard the phrase “second coming.” We already know he would stop Armageddon alone if he has too.

Because it’s all about protecting for Aziraphale. Did anyone else think it was odd that Aziraphale, who was soooo keen and literally bouncing up and down with joy at having The Mystery of Jim/Gabriel to solve, suddenly switched to dropping the mystery entirely and it never comes up again? Then on one of my many rewatches I realized Aziraphale was 100% in detective mode until Shax casually mentions that Crowley is risking destruction for him, which is the first Aziraphale has heard of Crowley being in trouble. Michael Sheen gives us the eyebrow raise of infamy and seems pretty cool, calm and collected about it but Aziraphale then lies to Crowley about anything strange happening and goes on to then frantically plan the greatest shopkeepers and trade association monthly meeting of all time and never questions Gabriel about who else he was at the bar with and never mentions The New Clue again. He drops solving the mystery entirely and throws himself into the ball. Because he wants to dance with Crowley?!?!! 😍🥹🥰 Maybe. But if Nina and Maggie get together then heavens suspicions are allayed, and Aziraphale has just learned that Crowey’s entire existence is in danger. He can’t protect him from hell but he can try to get Maggie and Nina together and protect him from heaven. That doesn’t happen but what happens instead? THE Voice of god herself, the top of the bureaucracy, shows up and offers Aziraphale the very protection for Crowley that he just tried to Jane Austin into existence?! Regardless of whether he fully believed Metatron, partially believed, or is 100% playing him for a sucker, he believes going along with Metatron will protect Crowley as well as “make a difference.” Which one is the main goal and which the happy side effect? Is there a difference? Does Aziraphale have any conscious awareness over what he’s doing? I have no explanation for the bitter “I forgive you” and have not yet read a theory that resonates.