#truly hope this lives up to the level of unhinged the first few chapters (and intro/summary) promise | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

galadrieljones · 4 years ago

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The Lily Farm - Chapter 50

AO3 | Masterpost

Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: After Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. What takes place at first is a simple love story: full of trials and journeys that they must endure together, as a team. But over time, things complicate. The gang is in trouble, and as Arthur and Mary Beth aim to set out on their own one day, they must find a way to help those they love while eventually, finding escape. Their ultimate goal is to go north with the Marstons, to find the bucolic stretches of Wisconsin where, rumor has it, there are lily farms. Will they make it? How will they survive when all hope seems lost? This is their story.

Chapter 50: Revenge is a Dish Best Shared

“Dutch,” said Abigail. “Goddammit, Dutch. Answer me.”

She had left Jack with the Reverend. They were practicing reading with the Bible inside one of the shacks on the water. A good deal of the camp had capsized in recent storms. The weather was cold at night, enough so to make most of them drink, even more than usual. Abigail had not drunk a drop, not since Sadie had left with the Texas Rangers some weeks before. She did not fancy losing control. That day, she wore a pair of John’s old trousers, tucked into a heavy pair of boots. Pearson and Charles and Lenny were spending all morning digging the wagons out the mud, caked in the stuff from head to toe, drinking water and wiping the sweat from their foreheads. A lot of the food had been lost or stolen by wild animals. One morning, not too many days before, an actual gator had washed up with the storm and nearly snapped Karen’s leg off. She bashed it on the head with a bottle and shot it with her gun and it scurried into the marsh.

Dutch and Hosea had been holing up in private the last couple days. They had sent Trelawny into town more than a week before with a letter Abigail knew was intended for Arthur. Something was going on, and though she understood it to be some sort of complex distraction being planned, she was sure they were supposed to be waiting for John and Sadie to return before they put things into motion.

“Tell me what’s happening, Dutch,” said Abigail. “Or I swear to fucking god.”

He was leaving the marsh. He was getting on his horse. “You swear to fucking god?” he said. “What god, fair Abbie? Prithee, tell me now.”

“Don’t matter what god,” said Abigail. “And don’t call me Abbie. Only one man around here can get away with that, maybe two, and it ain’t you.”

Usually Dutch would have laughed at her, but today, she seemed truly unhinged, and she was wearing trousers, which she never wore. He sighed, sitting on top of the Count. He leaned on his elbows so he could see her eyes. “Okay,” he said. “What do you want to know, Abigail.”

“I wanna know why the hell the boys are digging up the wagons? Why Miss Grimshaw is packing up the camp like we’re fixing to leave tomorrow.”

“Because we are fixing to leave tomorrow,” said Dutch. “Look around you. We are knee-deep in mud. If the law don’t find us, starvation surely will.”

“But what about John?” she pleaded. “What about Sadie?”

“We’ve got contingencies,” said Dutch. “Don’t worry. They’ll find us when this is all over.”

“All over?” she said. “How long will that be?”

“I don’t know,” said Dutch. “A few weeks? It really depends.”

“Weeks?” she said. With an unseen force, she reached up and tried making for his gun. “Weeks?”

She clawed at his face and got ahold of his hair. He was so surprised he didn’t know fully how to fight back and instead he yielded and allowed himself to be dragged from the horse. There was nothing else to do.

He landed on his feet in the muddy earth and then he managed to nudge her off of him as gentle as could be. He proceeded to dust off his lapels. “You trying to kill us both?”

“Maybe.”

“Calm yourself,” said Dutch.

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“John and Sadie will be fine. The Rangers have reassured me that they’re alive beyond their daring escape and in hiding north of Annesburg.”

“It’s gotta be freezing cold up in them hills,” said Abigail. “What if they’re—Jesus Christ, Dutch. What if they’re—”

“They’re fine, Abigail.”

“You don’t know that,” she said. “We gotta wait. Or—send somebody after them.”

He sighed. He hooked his thumbs around his gun belt. He squared up with her and said, “My girl, we can’t stay here any longer, and we can’t spare the manpower. You know it, as well as I. It is simply not safe. Everything is in place in St. Denis. The robbery will take place the day after tomorrow, and by then, you all need to be fully removed from Lemoyne, or else this is all for nothing. Arthur and Mary Beth risked their lives for nothing. John spent months in jail, for nothing. Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“But I just—” She was holding her face in her hands. “I can’t leave him,” she said. “I can’t keep waiting like this, Dutch. It’s killing me.”

“I know,” he said. “I know, my dear.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. He looked at her with soulful eyes, which seemed familiar. He had not reassured her on such fatherly terms in many years, and it was so foreign now she nearly backed away out of fear that he had been replaced by some sort of imposter. “You have to trust in John. Can you do that?”

She stared at him, feeling like a wild animal. “I suppose I can try,” she said.

“That’s my girl.”

“Where you going,” she said. “Why you getting on your horse.”

“I have an errand,” he said, replacing his hat atop his head.

“What sort of errand.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “If you’re looking for something to keep yourself busy, see Miss Grimshaw. I’m sure she needs help salvaging what’s left of this…wreckage.”

“That woman can bite my ass,” said Abigail, ringing her hands. “But I’ll help anyway.”

Dutch chuckled, mounted up, scratched the Count along his mane. “I shall return by morning,” he said. “Have faith, Mrs. Marston.”

He rode away.

She turned around to face the camp, which was in shambles. Mud everywhere. There were a couple structures, like repurposed fishing shacks, and that’s where they all slept. She thought about going in to bug on Hosea next, but she had heard him up coughing late the night before. This weather wasn’t good for him, for his lungs. Pearson was smoking a pipe, sitting on a tree stump. It was odd behavior for him and she figured he must have been drunk, head in his hands. Charles was taking a break, smoking hash cigarettes, which he had shared with her on occasion, but he seemed ornery as a great deal of the grunt work those days fell on him, and Lenny, and Lenny was green and despite his enthusiasm required some level of instruction. Micah was gone. Nobody had seen him in months. Tilly spent most of her days working the towns, bringing in as much money as she could, but without Mary Beth to help her work the angle, she just couldn’t bring in what she’d used to. The Reverend helped a great deal with Jack. He seemed to have turned a corner, and this was one small, good development amidst all the chaos.

The days and nights felt like an ongoing and monotonous fog of indecision since the weather started getting bad. Without Arthur and without John there was a big feeling of being unprotected on all sides. She felt like there was nobody manning the guns, even as that was untrue. There were good men left, but without those men she trusted most, it was never enough. In general, even with John around, Abigail had come to rely on Arthur’s presence for her ongoing sense of safety and stability in the gang for many years. It was something she was working on, not relying on him too much, especially now since he was having a family of his own and since John was stepping things up, as a man. But Arthur had always been the pillar, for as long as she had been around. Without him, there was a hole. Huffing and puffing and unsure of what to do, she placed her hands on her hips and scolded the dog for no reason. She felt bad about it immediately, patted him on the head and squeezed him behind the ears and said, “God fucking dammit. Goddammit. I’m sorry.”

“Hello, Abigail,” said Hosea. He was approaching her with his hands in his pockets. He looked tired, but awake. He had some color in his cheeks. Cane went up to him and sniffed at his pockets with excitement. Hosea scrubbed him once behind the ears and sent him away.

“Oh, Hosea,” said Abigail. “How you keeping?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart.” He walked past her. He stood on the edge of the water, looking out into its murky depths, wearing a brown cuourdoroy jacket. “How are you.”

“I’m trying my best,” she said, resisting the urge to ask too many questions. He wouldn’t have the answers anyway, not the ones she was looking for. She took a cigarette out of her pocket, but she didn’t have any matches.

Hosea breathed deep. He turned around, smiling at her wearily. He had a match and lit her cigarette, then he shook out the flame. “I know you miss John,” said Hosea. “I know you’re worried about him. I just wanted to check in on you.”

“Yes,” she said. “The boy needs his father. I—I need him, too. We been on better terms lately. Almost happy. Would be a shame to lose him now.” She was being sarcastic, but she almost started to cry as she smoked.

Hosea’s presence was strong and warm. He had been up late coughing, but she thought he looked a little better that day. Maybe it was just that she was so relieved to see him. “The two of you will make it,” he said.

She tried to smile.

“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot,” said Hosea.

“About what?” said Abigail.

“About Arthur,” said Hosea. “I miss him.”

She was surprised to hear him talking this way, so earnest. “Yeah, I miss him, too,” said Abigail, smoking. “Nothing feels quite right without him.”

“I agree,” he said. “It’s got me thinking. This whole…experiment. The gang. It might just be over. For good. That’s sad, in a way, but for Arthur, I couldn’t be happier. Somehow, it seems like a sign. New things are ahead, good things. I’ve just been thinking about him. That’s all.”

They listened to the sounds of the wintry swamp. It was cold and dank. The trees seemed to be heavy and hanging with sludge. The sky was gray. Abigail finished her cigarette, tossed it into the mud.

“Don’t give up on John,” said Hosea. He put his arm around her, held her close. “There’s still one more day, my girl. He might just make it, with moments to spare. He has a certain talent for that, don’t you think?”

They looked at the thick haze out over the water. There were alagators swimming in the soup. Hosea smelled strongly of stale smoke and medicine.

“Yeah he does,” she said, tucking her head into his shoulder, like she was trying to hide. “I’ll keep hoping, Hosea. I’ll try.”

It was late afternoon, and Arthur had tracked a Thoroughbred filly halfway down the valley and into Murfree Brood country. He thought she seemed fairly tame in nature upon initial observation and was going to break her for Charlotte. Though he had entertained the idea of taking Hamish since it had been some weeks since they’d spent time together, once he thought about it further, he decided that Hamish was an old man, and it was cold out there, and he was worried about the violence that could ensue. Perhaps it was coddling, but Arthur had grown a little protective in those days of the people had had left and those he held dear. He knew it would be better for him to go alone.

Losing light around four o’clock, he tried to ascertain whether he should stay the night or get back to the girls. John and Sadie had made their way out that very morning, and they were alone, and he didn’t want to lose the horse. It was now or never, he decided, after he’d had his dinner and tracked her one last quarter of a mile to the top of a snowy hill. He smoked a cigarette and went slow, the job taking about an hour in time. She would need further taming. She was a bit wilder than she had let on, but strong. Once he got her on the bit, he rode her back with Leah trotting at his side. The sun went down, and he did not see any bad characters nor cannibals on his journey. Perhaps they were in hiding, or sleeping off the snow. When he returned to the house, he tied up the horses in the stable and watered and fed them well. Inside, the girls had already finished with dinner but had saved him some, keeping it warm on the stove. Mary Beth had fallen asleep by the fire. Charlotte was knitting a sweater on the sofa.

“How’d it go?” she said to him, seeming good that night, though it was very late.

“It went well,” he said, lifting the lid on the stew. “I brought back a prize girl.”

“Really?” said Charlotte.

“Indeed. It’s a bit late, though. I’ll introduce her to you in the morning.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Thank you, Arthur.”

“You are welcome. It was the least I could do.”

Charlotte went back to her knitting, happily. Arthur went to touch Mary Beth on the forehead, just a habit he had. He had hoped she’d be awake, for he was in the mood to be with her and to talk a little. But it was okay.

“I’m gonna haul her off to bed,” said Arthur. “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “You don’t have to wrry about me, Arthur.”

He took a deep breath then, put his hands on his hips. “Did she, uh, talk to you at all? About what’s coming?”

“She did,” said Charlotte. “She asked me to come with you.”

Arthur nodded, looked down at his boots for a second. “And?”

“And, I think I will.” She set down her knitting and looked up at him, seriously. “I’ve nothing going for me here, not all alone. I see that, and while I think that it was once a noble dream, Cal wouldn’t—he wouldn’t want me to be unsafe.” She looked down into her lap and held the ring on her finger, tightly. “I don’t see it as giving up. Not anymore. I don’t know what I’ll do, where I’ll end up. But Mary Beth told me the two of you are headed north to Wisconsin with John and his family. I have a cousin in Chicago. We were quite close in childhood. I thought maybe I would…I’m not sure. Head there? Start over, somewhat. What do you think?”

Arthur smiled at her, feeling accomplished as if his job were done. “I think that sounds like a good idea.”

She was relieved.

“It might be…a little while, before we head up there,” he said. “Maybe not till some time after the baby comes. You good on waiting? If not, we can get you on a train. Any time. It ain’t a problem.”

“I think I’ll wait for a while,” she said. “I’ll try my best to learn and keep up. I’d like to meet the baby.”

For some reason, this surprised Arthur. He hadn’t thought about it like that before, not really. That the baby would be real, sooner rather than later, and that it would be a person that somebody would want to meet. It overwhelmed him, but just for a moment. This wasn’t his first rodeo, though he had not been there for Isaac’s birth. He had been so young, and it was a lifetime ago. “Very good,” said Arthur, almost bashful about it. “I’m real glad, Charlotte.”

“Me, too,” she said.

Meanwhile, Dutch was on his way into St. Denis. Some weeks before, he had received correspondence from Micah Bell, asking him for a meeting at the saloon there, wanting for peace, saying he had a plan, but Hosea had convinced him it was a fool’s errand. Convinced him he could even be working for the feds. Dutch was not fixing to go. He was sending a representative in his place. He rode around outside the town, to the big houses on the water, in full disguise. He had stopped somewhere under the train tracks to change his clothes. He was dressed like a stevedore. He even mucked up the Count. Nobody was going to catch a whiff of him, not for miles.

Things had changed, and Dutch was gritting his teeth. He had needed for some time to be reminded to look into the future, not the past. The future. But to get there, he knew he had to entertain some modicum of looking back, and so that’s what he was doing tonight. He hopped a large stone fence and bartered with a couple security guards, on of whom he had met at the mayor’s party many months before. He waited beneath a gazebo lit with electric fancy and there was a duck pond, which he admired as he smoked his cigar. Checking his watch, he was made to wait twenty minutes, which should have angered him, but he knew he would get what he came for. It was worth his patience tonight.

“Signor van der Linde,” said Angelo Bronte, coming out onto the lawn in the moonlight. He held two glass cups—Sambuca, con la mosca. He was wearing slippers and his smoking jacket. He, too, held a stogie between his teeth. “I am so sorry for the delay. My men, you know, they are hopeless bastards. Most are too drunk half the time to communicate at all, let alone clearly.”

Dutch knew it was mostly bullshit. He didn’t particularly care. He straightened up off the railing upon which he’d been leaning. Bronte handed him one of the Sambucas and the men shook hands in the gazebo. “It is not problem,” said Dutch. “Gave me time to collect my thoughts.”

“Very good, very good,” said Bronte. He smoked, looked around, and lowered his voice. “You are alone?”

“I am indeed.”

“Good. Then we may proceed. You and you’re men are all set for two nights time, no?”

“Yes, we are.”

“My man will be there,” he said, smoking, “at the bank, as previously agreed upon. He has the key, but not the combinations.”

“I have a vault man,” said Dutch. “You needn’t be concerned.”

Bronte examined his nails. “Detonation will occur as soon as you have boarded the vessel. My hostages will ID you, as discussed. Micah Bell will be there to take the fall.”

“Have you apprehended Mr. Bell, or does that yet remain?”

“It is in progress, as we speak.”

The ducks splashed around a little in the pond. A cloud passed over the moon, darkening the yard. “Very good.”

“When you arrive in Blackwater,” said Bronte, “you are on your own. My vessel returns to the St. Denis docks.”

“I got no further use for your boat, Mr. Bronte. Just need a clean getaway

“I had to make sure. You understand.”

“Of course,” said Dutch.

“I trust you will hold up your end of the bargain.” He blew a smoke ring into the air, watched it disappear, blew another.

“The mayor is already in trouble, my good sir,” said Dutch. “Removing dirty politicians from office is a former specialty of mine.”

“Is that right?”

“I’ve got friends in high places.”

Bronte smiled. “I want my money.”

“You’ll get it.”

“And I’d like to see Marie again, some day. If possible. Boy, I do miss her. And her oaf of a husband. They are such fun, for Americans.”

“Marie?” said Dutch. “You mean Mary Beth.”

Bronte laughed. “Yes, yes. Whatever the hell.”

“I can’t guarantee that,” said Dutch, “but I’ll see what I can do. They’re expecting a child. Arthur—or, Tacitus, is fairly…protective of his own. It’ll take some convincing. Especially after you kidnapped little Jack.”

“I did no such thing,” said Bronte. “I love children. I have several of my own, with multiple women back in Calabria. Jack was delivered to me by local barbarians with chips on their shoulders. All I did was give him a warm bed and feed him fine Italian cuisine. What was I to do, turn him out on the street?”

Dutch put out his cigar in a nearby flower pot. “I suppose that is true.”

“Anyway,” said Bronte. “All is in order. Are we in business, or no?”

He held out his hand. Dutch shook it, firmly. “Yes. I believe we are.”

They drank the Sambuca, both of them, in one gulp. Then they tossed the cups into the weeds.

“You may wait here, until you have confirmation of Micah Bell’s safe capture,” said Bronte.

“I think I will. Thank you.”

“You want anything? Food? Wine?”

“I’d love some,” said Dutch. “Thank you very much.” He took a seat at the table and straightened his suspenders. “Feel free to join me, Mr. Bronte. I love a party.”

“As do I,” he said. “I’ll send for the servants, and then I’ll return. It the good life, no? Being in agreement for once?”

“I could not agree more.”

They drank and enjoyed themselves for most of the evening. The girls came around, and though several were offered to him, Dutch did not partake. He didn’t like to mix business with pleasure, and he did not get too drunk. Around midnight, one of the men returned with Micah, unconscious, hog-tied, stuck him in the locked cellar. It was time for Dutch to take his leave, as all had been made clear. He rode home through the marsh, eager to return to Hosea, who he was concerned he had left behind in poor health.

“This is it,” whispered Sadie. “Don’t cause a ruckus. I don’t know what the hell’s been going on.”

“Why the hell would I cause a ruckus?” said John. “Do I look like a fucking idiot to you?”

Sadie glared. They were on horseback, coming in slow to the marsh. The gators were everywhere in the glowing moonlight, and it was clear that Arthur was at least partially correct. The weather was becoming a problem. When they crested the trees and entered into camp, John could see all that had been lost, everything that was going on, and it was a sorry and fucked-up situation. He’d never lived like that, not since joining the gang. It was a bad way, for sure. Good news was, however, they hadn’t missed them. Everybody was still there. He and Sadie had gotten home in less than a day, and the fire was still on, and Lenny and Bill were standing guard. It was near on 2am when John and Sadie arrived, in full safety. The snow had kept them hidden up in the hills, and by the time they got down through the valley, the lawmen were long gone. Charlotte had saved them.

“John Marston,” said Lenny. “Holy shit. It’s you! Sadie, you did it. You got him free.”

“Damn straight, kid,” she said. She tied up the horse and removed her hat. “Weren’t no picnic, I can assure you.”

“Where’s Abigail,” said John. “Is she here?”

“She’s in there,” said Bill, switching his shotgun to the other shoulder. “Shack by the edge of the water. Been crying for you every goddam night, Marston. I swear to god.”

John didn’t know what to say. He tipped his hat to Sadie like a final thank you and proceeded through the camp, listening to Lenny chatter on to Sadie in the background, asking her for the full play-by-play. Everybody must have been holed up in the shacks, because he saw no one lying about, or drinking, or warming to the fire. Not even the Reverend. The atmosphere was dank and sad.

When he got in the shack, he took his hat off and hung it up by the door and looked around. It was two rooms. The stove was burning. He heard Abigail’s voice from the other room. “Goddammit, who’s there?” she said. “Get the hell out. We’re sleeping.”

“Abbie,” he said, standing in the doorway. His own voice sounded desperate, echoing through the shack like a hollow tune. She came out, clutching a shawl around her shoulders, looking beside herself. “Abbie, I’m back,” he said.

“Oh my god,” she said. “John?”

She rushed to him, dropping the shawl. She was wearing his clothes, and she smelled like sweat and the smoke from the stove. He held her tightly, maybe tighter than he ever had. “I’m here,” he said, smiling into her hair. “Goddammit. I’m here.”

“You’re so goddam skinny,” she said, right away, smiling through tears. “John Marston. What happened to you?”

“Nothing good,” he said. “But I’m here now. That’s all that matters.”

They kissed in the warmth of the shack on the water. It had surprised them both. They looked at their shoes, and then they looked at each other. It was all right. It was right. He had been so scared that she would change, that she’d lose hope in him. But nothing had changed. It was all right.

“Hosea was spot on,” she said, drying her cheeks. “He knew you’d come.”

“Is everybody okay?”

“As far as I can tell,” she said.

“That’s good,” he said. “That’s real good.”

Dutch arrived back into camp shortly thereafter, bringing with him a bottle of very expensive Limoncello, and the the promise of a new day.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #mary beth gaskill #arthur x mary beth #dutch van der linde #john marston #abigail marston #hosea matthews #the lily farm #<3

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itsclydebitches · 5 years ago

Link

Bribe - There’s one demon in particular who’s interested to know how Crowley survived that bath.

Read on AO3 or below!

***

“He sent a letter.”

“A letter?”

“Well yes. However else is he meant to contact us? It’s not as if we’ve been very free with our telephone numbers—”

“Speak for yourself.”

“—your lot are perpetually behind in technology—”

“Good of you to notice, Black Pot.”

“—and meeting in person without some warning would be... well.” Aziraphale smoothed down his vest. Then did it a second time, the worn fabric soft against his hands. “I'm grateful for it, is all. Strange as it may be. I say, will you at least pretend to take this seriously?”

With a roll of his eyes Crowley ceased terrorizing a starling, finally releasing the poor bird from his hypnotic gaze. It shot off across St. Jame’s park, off to tell the other birds all about the snake who was not a snake, who very much looked as if he’d eat her, but hadn’t. Within an hour it would be the talk of the nesting grounds.

“I am taking this seriously,” Crowley said. He rolled his neck and set back off down the path, leaving Aziraphale with no choice but to follow. “Course I’m taking it seriously! Demon contacts you out of the blue, wanting to meet all secret like, what’s not serious? It’s just...” he snatched the letter, holding it up to the sun. “I just didn’t know that Ligur could write.”

Aziraphale stumbled. “I’m sorry, dear. Did you just say one of your colleagues can’t read?”

“No, I said write. Keep up, angel.” Aziraphale once again made an attempt, both literally and figuratively. “He obviously can. Just surprised me is all. Why are you surprised? You know I don’t read.”

“Poppycock. You’ve read since humans started carving on stone slabs, you simply claim otherwise in an effort to annoy me.”

Crowley fiddled with his glasses, hiding his smile. “Huh. Is it working?”

“I will chuck you into the pond, dear boy. Don’t think that I won’t.”

“But this skirt is new!”

“Precisely my point.”

With grumbling on both sides the walk continued, the letter passed back and forth as if reading it again and again might change their circumstances. Crowley was well prepared to deal with any push-back from Beelzebub, curses laid around the bookshop and a new thermos of holy water locked up tight in his safe. Aziraphale, in turn, had mustered up the emotional energy needed to plot against his brethren—although he steadfastly avoided words as damning as “plot.” Too close to the original Rebellion for his nerves, thank you. The point, however, was that he had begun praying directly to God once again and found time among his reading for light sparing with a human-made blade, two activities that he hoped he never had to draw on under more dire circumstances. That was the fear though, wasn’t it? That hope alone would only carry them so far.

Thus, they had prepared for hoards and hosts; a veritable army of creatures set to take out the angel who wasn’t quite an angel anymore and the demon who, arguably, had never been much of a demon to begin with.

A surprisingly polite letter slipped beneath the door was... not on the list of expected threats.

Aziraphale shook the paper a bit. Or parchment, rather. He hadn't the slightest idea where Ligur had gotten it. “Didn’t you kill him?”

“Didn’t your bookshop burn?” Crowley mimicked and then immediately looked contrite. He bumped shoulders in apology as they walked. “Yeah. I did. Holy water right over the head. It’s gotta be the antichrist then, right? Brought him back along with everything else? Satan, but ten-year-olds are stupid.”

“That stupid eleven-year-old has a name,” Aziraphale said. “And I’d like to see you reset reality without a few, unfortunate consequences. We’re not going to blame Adam for what we did.”

“What we had to do,” Crowley corrected. Then he sighed. “Yeah. No argument from me. Over and done with, all that. Only question is...”

He trailed off. They’d come to the end of the path, with it a long line of benches. Their benches. Crowley’s hands curled into fists as he spotted a bedraggled figure seated in his usual spot, hunched slightly against all the sunshine and happy park goers that surrounded him. Ligur’s eyes shifted their way and Crowley took an instinctive step in front of Aziraphale.

“What does the bastard want?”

A hand landed on his arm, trailed downward, stopped just short of taking his hand. Aziraphale gave Crowley's wrist a squeeze.

“Only one way to find out. Together then?” and he tugged them forward.

***

Meetings in public spots. It was all very spy-ish. Clandestine. It occurred to Aziraphale that he might have enjoyed this immensely under other circumstances. Problem was, meeting publicly meant actually getting the public involved. Living, breathing, entirely ignorant human beings flitting here and there, the perfect hostages should Ligur take it upon himself to secure one. It made his otherwise lovely lunch sit rather heavily in his stomach, but Aziraphale stood firm before the demon, still slouched as he was over the bench. Crowley had taken up position behind Ligur, pacing and chewing a strip of gum he’d gotten from Heaven only knew where.

Hmm. Not that there was much chance Heaven actually knew. Or Hell. The only person who might have any idea was Aziraphale himself, and he didn’t, so he supposed Crowley’s gum was simply one mystery he’d never solve. Unless God herself decided to descend and tell him—

Crowley caught his eyes across the bench. There were no words. But then, after 6,000 years you didn’t really need any. The message was clear: Stop panicking!

I am not panicking.

I know your panicking look, angel, thoughts all over the place.

Then stop staring at me!

Crowley did, settling for staring down at Ligur instead. He poked him hard in the shoulder. “You wanted something?”

“Yes—”

“Well too bad. Whatever it is you’re not getting it.”

Ligur shot off a glare, but it was halfhearted at best. With the exception of Crowley, all demons were a bit of a mess. Aziraphale didn’t know how they could stand it, wandering around in filthy clothes reeking of all sorts of unmentionables. Hair unkempt. Those nails. Yet despite this all being quite normal for his lot, Aziraphale had the distinct impression that Ligur was more ruffled than usual. He appeared not just sloppy, but run down. The sort of look Aziraphale might have been tempted to adopt had his bookshop been well and truly gone.

All of which was made clear when he turned fully towards Crowley and said. “You killed me.”

Ah.

“Yeeeaaah,” Crowley said. One hand snuck to the back of his neck. “But you deserved it! You tried to kill me first! Is that it then? Out for revenge and all that?” He frowned, looking around at the sunny day. Not a trap or another demon in sight. “You’re not very good at it...”

Ligur snorted. “If I wanted you dead, Crowley, you’d be dead.”

“What? Like last time?”

Aziraphale valiantly tried to turn his laugh into a cough—and failed rather miserably. He wilted under the look Ligur shot him. “Sorry.”

“Revenge,” he sniffed. “Who exactly do you take me for? We’re demons, Crowley. I’ve never trusted one of my own and I never will. Of course we’re out to kill one another! No sense getting worked up about it. What? Are you going to get mad at feathers here for shooting rainbows out his ass?” Aziraphale blinked under the onslaught of that image while Crowley’s mouth slowly unhinged. “No. It’s in our nature. I’ve got no problem with that. Besides, bucket of holy water over the door frame? Spark of genius that. Even if the rest of your work lacks craftsmanship.” Ligur shot up a boil-laden hand when Crowley moved to protest. Aziraphale could see a hissed what? already forming on his lips. “I died. Our Lord’s son brought me back. Pretty straight forward, far as I’m concerned. All I care about now is how you did it.”

A young jogger shouted out a “Left!” and Aziraphale stepped aside, instinctively moving to join Crowley on the other side of the bench. He wanted to take his hand this time, but settled for turning the letter over and over again instead. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. You just said it. Young Adam was responsible for your resurrection. I’m afraid such miracles are beyond our power. I couldn’t begin to tell you how he accomplished it. Nor, would I guess, could he.”

“What? I’m not talking to some snot-nosed mortal boy. Even if he is the Deceiver’s child.” Ligur sat on his knees, arms now folded across the bench’s top. He rested his chin on his hands and the chameleon atop his head blinked, oh so slowly. Both sets of eyes remained trained on Crowley. “I’m talking about what came after. What everyone’s been whispering about downstairs. How’d you do it, Crowley? As someone who has had one very nasty encounter with holy water and is not eager to repeat it: How’d you survive that bath?”

Aziraphale’s gasp was, luckily, drowned out by a shout from afar. A group of children playing, their joy unexpectedly saving him from what might have become quite the predicament. Crowley risked a glance his way, but had a better poker face than expected. Then again, hadn’t they been preparing for this? The day when Heaven and Hell finally figured out what they’d done.

Except it wasn’t Heaven. Or even Hell. Just a single demon, now gripping the sleeves of his jacket with a desperate intensity that nagged at Aziraphale. Tempted him to reconsider things that, to be frank, were best left not considered. Because if he—Heaven forbid—ever started feeling sorry for any demon other than Crowley... well. It didn’t bear thinking about. Not when their neat and ordered world was already so topsy-turvey.

And yet, that had been his holy water. His blessing that had driven Ligur off of this plane. Funny how Aziraphale could feel so much regarding an indirect killing than he had when he’d leveled a gun at a child.

Luckily, Crowley wasn’t the sympathetic type. Not when it came to his fellows, anyway.

“Now why would I give up a secret as big as that?” Crowley asked, leaning right in Ligur’s face.

The demon gave as good as he got, rising up until they were nearly nose-to-nose. “Because I dropped that letter off at your angel’s precious bookshop. Because I chose this spot knowing you two come here every Thursday. I know you, Crowley, and if you don’t tell me I will dedicate every free moment I have to making the both of you as miserable as possible.”

Crowley paused. “Got a lot of free time then?”

“Since I technically got off the roster thanks to your murder? Oodles.”

A stare. A smile. A full minute of silence that dragged in the worst way. Then Crowley clapped his hands.

“Right! C’mon then,” and to Aziraphale’s quiet shock Crowley turned on his heel and began marching across the grass. Once again someone was watching out for them—Her, fate, just a hefty dose of luck—because Ligur was vaulting the bench, too immersed in keeping pace with Crowley to take note of Aziraphale’s stunned expression. After a moment he shook himself and began to follow.

What a trio they made: Crowley in flowing skirt and lace top, a skimpy middle finger to the heat; Aziraphale in linen and a lighter vest than usual, but otherwise buttoned up; Ligur trailing a coat so dirty and infested it seemed to squirm around his shoulders. If anyone thought their manner of dress odd, a quick miracle took care of that. Crowley led them through throngs of mortals enjoying the day, each giving them a fond glance that Aziraphale took strength from.

What was even better for the nerves than love though was food. Perhaps blasphemous to say so, but true nonetheless. When Crowley stopped at their favorite ice cream cart Aziraphale had already bustled his way to the front. He suddenly needed a cone and flake like nothing else, all but throwing himself into Toby’s line of sight with a miracled fiver in hand.

“Usual, Mr. Fell?” Toby said, already scooping up an extra-large serving. “‘Ello, Anthony. Can I tempt you to one of my strawberry pops?”

“Grape today,” he said, earning a pleased smile. “And my friend here will have a vanilla cone. Best you’ve got in stock.”

Toby chuckled. “Righty then. Best cone, best scoop, best jimmies. Coming right up.” He was entirely oblivious to the sarcastic tilt of Crowley’s ‘friend,’ or the near panicked look that shot across Ligur’s face, followed quickly by disgust. Over his own mouthful (Toby was mercifully quick) Aziraphale couldn’t help but compare the expression to another, similar one he’d seen not too long past: Gabriel’s horror over him eating sushi.

Too many commonalities. Too many implications. Aziraphale stuffed his mouth full of ice cream and decided to let sleeping reforms lie. Best to let Crowley do whatever it was he was doing. Or thought he was doing. Hopefully they amounted to one and the same.

Things became a little clearer when he gestured to the cart with a vaguely reverent air. “This is it, Ligur. You wanted my secret, you’ve got it. The jig is up,” and Crowley accepted his grape popsicle with exaggerated gratitude.

Ligur hissed with displeasure. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Yes. But that’s not the issue here. Why would I lie?”

“Because you wish to keep such a significant advantage for yourself.”

Crowley shrugged. Beneath Toby’s nose he unhinged his jaw and swallowed the popsicle whole. Gum too. It went unnoticed. “I mean sure. Makes sense. Except you just promised to make our lives a living heaven and I believe it. Not worth the risk. Besides, me giving up the secret doesn’t mean you can use it.” Crowley tossed the stick over his shoulder. Aziraphale waved his hand, sending that and the bit of paper stuck to his cone into the ether.

“I see.” Ligur’s eyes narrowed as Toby handed him his treat, decked out in as many jimmies as the ice cream could hold. “You say eating this will make me immune to holy water? You think I wouldn't suffer through this for such a reward?”

Under the sun, Aziraphale began to sweat.

“No. Ice cream won't make you immune.”

He began to sweat harder.

Crowley just managed to catch Ligur’s wrist before he chucked the cone at his face. With his other hand he wagged his finger back and forth like a disappointed parent. “Patience. You’re going to need a lot of it if you really want that reward. Because ice cream is just step one.”

“Explain.”

Crowley spread his arms, this time encompassing not just the ice cream, but the entirety of the park. The world, as Aziraphale soon understood. “You’ve gotta be human, Ligur. Or as close as we can manage. That right there is your ticket.” He nudged the demon in his chest… then frowned at whatever sticky substance had adhered to his finger. Toby kindly handed him a napkin. “Thank you. As I was saying, you’ve gotta blur the lines a little bit. I mean, you’ve seen humans. Those righteous ones flicking holy water at each other every Sunday.”

Ligur shivered. “Repulsive.”

“Right? But the corrupt ones do it too! Take the nastiest, awfulest, most foulest, meaniness—”

“Those are not words, dear.”

“Shut it, angel. You picture that lot, the ones we’ve helped turn, and you think about whether they really function any differently.” Crowley made a shushing noise as Ligur tried to speak. “No, no, no, don’t actually think. I know it’s hard for you. Luckily, I’ve got the answer: they don’t! the most sin-ridden human on the planet can still waltz into a church un-burnt; dump a whole vat of holy water over their head if they want without anything going all melty. Why? I mean, we could get into Her favoritism and all, but really the ‘why’ doesn’t matter. The point is they can. So if you want my advantage...” Crowley tilted his head, grinning. “You’ve got to become just a little bit human.”

Ligur was still. Not in any way that a person would have been able to achieve—and wasn’t that just the point? Azirphale found that he was holding his breath, trying to stay just as still, until slowly, agonizingly, Ligur dropped his gaze back to the melting cone in his hand.

The distaste was apparent. Yet he licked it once, like a cat indulging in a wary taste. Aziraphale found himself impressed.

“There you go!” Crowley cheered. He made to thump him on the back, remembered sticky fingers, and awkwardly dropped his hand.

Ligur took a bite this time, leaving ice cream smeared over his lips. It was impossible to tell whether he liked it or not. “And how long until I’m more... human?” His teeth chattered over the word.

Crowley shrugged, but Aziraphale’s eyes were sharp. There was nothing casual in that gesture. “Hard to say. I mean, we’ve been here since the beginning, so...”

Beginnings. Ligur had to start somewhere and Crowley pointed him towards a patch of grass where a group of teens were playing Frisbee, encouraging him to join in. Aziraphale was both horrified and curious as to how that would go over. Would he finish the ice cream first? Drop it? Catch a Frisbee one handed? Use it to decapitate one of the teens? He flexed his fingers and resisted the urge to give them all invulnerable necks.

“Do you think that will work?” he hissed to Crowley, both of them watching Ligur approach and say something to a young woman that, astoundingly, brought a smile to her face. “I mean, how long before he picks up on the ruse?”

“Is it?” Crowley murmured. “A ruse? I mean... when was the last time you encountered any hell fire?” At Aziraphale’s startled look he laughed, tilting his head upwards. “I don’t know, angel. I really don’t. But I figure at the very least I've bought us a six thousand year buffer.”

Aziraphale considered. Huffed. Returned to watching Ligur examine the Frisbee (still with ice cream in hand) and ignored that awful tug around his chest, encouraging him to consider impossible things.

“I suppose,” he said. Aziraphale finally took Crowley’s hand like he’d wanted to, safe in Ligur’s distraction. It was warm and tight in his. A solid, reliable weight.

“And think, all for just the price of an ice cream.”

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #air conditioning #ligur

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carryonmywaywardwriters · 6 years ago

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Love How You Hate Me - Sam x Reader

A/N: I had some time, am back home, and figured I’d just start reposting back from the beginning. I wanted to start with something that I haven’t seen in ages. Something that’s more personal to me. Edit and change it as I post. Because I’m in a far different place than I was three years ago, and I hope it shows this time around. So...I hope you enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Upcoming Warnings: Show level violence. Mentions of childhood trauma/sexual abuse sprinkled in (not super detailed. I do have my limits). Smut. A lot of detailed smut. Kidnapping. Near death experiences. Etc. Individual chapters will have different warnings. Read at your own risk.

Word Count: Roughly 3,500

“Could you get anymore annoying?”

“Sure.” You smirked broadly, eyeing up the competition with nothing short of arrogance. “I could be just like you.” That made Sam clench his jaw, and eyes flash dark. A reaction that showed just how much you were getting to him without even trying.

“Why do you keep her around?” Sam turned to his brother at the table, clearly attempting to hold back as much of his rage as he could manage. His knuckles were white against his skin while gripping his fork. Face carrying just a hint of red in his cheeks that pulled in tight. Revealing twin sets of unimpressed dimples. You couldn't help but to ponder what his blood pressure was. Definitely on the higher end.

He'd been in a mood from the moment he walked into the bunker, according to Dean. Sam had been 'perfectly fine' before then. It's probably because I was the first thing he'd spotted when he'd opened the door.

You two had been verbally sparring ever since. Nothing new. Your heart beat a little too fast from it all. Maybe I should check my B.P. while I'm at it.

“The entertainment value alone is worth it.” Dean grinned broadly at his brother. Drawing you back to the dinner time conversation. “She's the only one I've seen you really lose your temper with, Sammy. Plus, she's a mean cook.” He took a larger than life bite of chicken to emphasize his point. A grunt of approval was released while his eyes closed in bliss. “We can't cook like this. We'd be back to take out nonstop if she left, or I'd have to take up the mantle. And that...” Another giant piece of meat was shoved into his mouth, “That just feels like a crime.”

“I'd play humble, but I agree. I did knock it out of the park tonight.” You moaned out after a bite of your own. Noting the way the younger brother's eye twitched in response. “Plus, I'm a great maid. And am great at sorting through that mess called a file room when you're done with it. I could go on for hours, but you're already looking a little green, Sammy. I'd hate to see the food I worked so hard on go to waste.”

The flush darkened from your never ending sass, or the 'Sammy' usage. Either way, it was working. He was coming unhinged. His scowl got deeper as he shoveled his food into his mouth, eager to flee from your presence.

Whether he liked it or not, you really had assisted in making their lives easier in multiple retrospects; including the home cooked meals- something they rarely had before you joined the gang. And as a result of your ability to coexist with his boar of a brother, Sam was stuck with you. For life, the way things were going.

You had learned to appreciate getting under the younger Winchester's skin to some degree, and fought back another grin of triumph. Of course, he happened to see your lip twitch in amusement; forcing his glower to deepen further. It really was too easy most times.

It had begun the very first moment you two had met. You'd been a bit of a klutz that day; dumping coffee on his lap before you could even say hi. Tripping over your feet from the anxiety.

Dean had made the introductions while Sam suppressed his annoyance; attempting to not chew you out right from the start. You'd sat in embarrassment, trying not to cower from his dark looks. From there, the tension only got worse until it was clear he despised you even to poor- typically clueless- Castiel.

Unfortunately for Sam, you and his older brother had become close before you'd ever met him. Even if you had been useless to their lives, Dean would have kept you around out of nothing more than emotional attachment. Poor Sammy had no choice but to suck up your presence in the bunker as a result. Only getting a reprieve when him and Dean left for a hunt, or he went out solo.

At first you'd tried. Really tried. You'd even talked to Dean about ways to get his younger brother to warm up to you. You hated the tension and awkwardness that Sam seemed to feed off of. Nothing worked. If anything, every shy overture increased the hostility. Eventually, you had just given up. Dean had gone to the bat, determined to assist until he saw you start to give it as good as you got it. Then, he decided to step back and enjoy the show.

And what a show it was. For just over two years, war waged in the bunker. You didn't return Sam's deep hatred, but you certainly weren't above rising up to it. For every barb thrown your way, you returned one. More if the circumstances were right. And often, they were more than right.

At first, Sam had been surprised when you'd rebelled. It was enough to give you some peace for a few weeks, even. Giving you space as he processed the change. Then, he'd adapted to the new attitude. Finally finding someone he could take whatever was wrong in his life out on.

Over time, it became almost like a game between you two. Who could take the most heat? And for the most part, once you'd joined in, you two were equals in the battle.

“So, what'd you do while we were out?” Dean asked, mouth still full. They'd driven straight through; crashing as soon as they'd hit their rooms. He hadn't really had much time to catch up.

“Made a little head way on the file room. Dusted. Put all of the books in the library back. Ya know: maid stuff. But, most of the time, I ended up at Alice's.” You answered with a shrug. It wasn't a terribly exciting life you led. Unlike him and Sam.

“How's she doing?” His interest piqued. Chewing slower as he waited for you to give him the details.

“As happy as a woman on bed rest, in her eighth month of pregnancy can be.” You chuckled, thinking of your friend. She was a taller, naturally willowy woman with long strawberry blonde curls. Sporting a belly as big as a yoga ball in front of her. “Bane thinks she's going to pop any second. He's turning into a wreck.”

“Poor, guy.” Dean chuckled. Picturing it with ease. “I'll have to drop in sometime. Grab a present for the beast-to-be. Maybe that'll calm some nerves.”

Bane was slightly taller than either Winchester, but less bulky. His hair was practically black, it was so dark. The pair of had-been-hunters had been a package deal with you. Dean had joined into the gang without a problem once he'd met you. An amazing feat for the natural loner. Sam had taken to them with a similar ease- one that had excluded you.

“I'll go with you.” Sam spoke up, ignoring the sour look his words dredged up. Just great.

–

“Sam!” You screeched, tearing down the hall the next morning. As soon as you were able, you slammed onto his door with your fists. “Open up, you coward!” Teeth ground together as his bed creaked, but no other sound emitted. “Bastard!”

“What the hell is going on?” Dean peeked his head out of his door to see what was going down; hair sticking up everywhere. Ever the sleepy hedgehog. “Y/N? What's your problem, now?”

“He put dead fish in all of my drawers, and then shut off my air conditioning!” You hissed out. The putrid scent still clung to your nostrils. Riling you up further. “So, not only does my room smell like rotting fish- No, that wasn't good enough. He made sure that the heat stuck the scent to everything. I can't get it out! I've gone through three air fresheners! Three! I don't have a window I can open, Dean!” You turned back to the door, putting your entire strength into the knock. The wood shook with the force of it. Every bit of murderous rage transferring from you to the door in the process. “Sam Winchester! You're dead! Do you hear me? Dead!”

A string of very detailed- though empty- threats ensued, making Dean roll his eyes and walk away; carrying an 'it's too early for this shit' look on his face. With a sigh, he tightened his robe. Moving to seek out coffee. Wondering, not for the first time, if it was truly worth it to have you both at each other's throats.

Sam grinned as he heard the muffled sounds that were no doubt promises of retaliation over the music thumping in his ears. He'd decided you'd earned a present for all of your 'impeccable' manners the night before.

She really should've remembered to lock her door. He'd learned you were a fairly solid sleeper early on, and had used it to his advantage when he felt the urge. Sam was almost insulted that you hadn't kept your guard up. Maybe I'm getting out of practice? The increased echoes of you shouting confirmed that wasn't the case.

He'd rarely started prank wars in his life, preferring to finish what Dean started. But in your case, he'd made an exception. Several times. Wonder how long it takes her to check inside her box spring? His grin grew wide while he pondered over that one, turning up the volume until nothing else could be heard. Letting Celine Dion block you out. She thinks she's mad now...

You left to visit Alice to cool down; knowing that the moment you spotted the younger Winchester, you were going to lose your cool further. Exactly what he wanted. You'd be damned if you'd give him anymore satisfaction than your blow up that morning had already delivered.

“He did what?” She was trying not to laugh, making you narrow your eyes her way as you paced through the pale, homey room. She coughed to cover up her broken chuckles. Finally, the blonde almost made it to a serious note. “No, you're right. That isn't funny. It's awful.” A snort she couldn't seem to help left as she rested on the couch.

“It's like he's a five year old!” You grumbled, crossing your arms as maturely as you could. It failed. You resembled a sulking child, yourself. “I had an easier life in that one foster care home. The one with all the boys- The James's house. You know all of the horror stories from that place.” A shudder ran through you as you recalled being the only girl out of nine kids. “As bad as they were, at least they learned not to piss me off. This guy gets off on it.” Your eyes narrowed further as you thought about your room, again. “He could at least pretend not be so cruel. I mean, a water snake in the toilet would have been less evil.” At your friend's disbelieving look, you clarified, “That doesn't make all of my possessions reek indefinitely. It's short term misery.” Because that made perfect sense.

“I'll have to remember that one.” Sam's deep voice made you spin around to the living room entrance. Speak of the devil and he shall appear...

He looked too comfortable resting near the kitchen. The way his plaid glued to his shoulders made him too large for you to stand. His expression too smug. It made you wonder just how cocky he'd look once you gave him a black eye. Maybe a split lip.

“Don't even think about it, Winchester.” You hissed out. He grinned in merriment as your E/C eyes flashed his way. “I grew up with that one. Always look before you sit.”

“Great advice.”

“I try to be helpful.” Your tone was anything but. If looks could have killed, Sam Winchester would have been a dead man. Again.

You wanted nothing more than to strangle him for his childish prank. But, giving him any more satisfaction? You'd rather die.

Instead, you pulled out your inner ice queen that drove him crazy. All the while plotting your revenge. You felt your features relax into the cold mask you'd picked up in your childhood as you two looked at each other. The tiniest twitch in his left eye made it all worthwhile.

“Sammy!” Alice cooed in joy, holding her arms out for a hug. He stopped the stare down so he could move to bend down to her; wrapping her in a warm embrace. Careful not to crush the bump at her middle.

“How's the beast doing?” He asked before settling beside her on the couch. Behaving like a regular human being rather than a monster. You leaned against the wall, unwilling to take any of the open seats beside the giant ogre.

“Having a great time using my ribs as a trampoline.” She chuckled with a light grimace as her stomach rolled lightly from the movement of the child inside of her. Made all the more visible by her thin tank top.

“See, the perfect nickname.” He teased, having coined the unborn child once it started becoming more active. Watching the infant lull inside the womb with amazement.

“I don't know. I'm sure I can think of someone more fitting for that title.” You smiled sweetly, making sure to bat your eyes for the extra appearance of innocence.

No one in the room bought it. Not even the child. All movement seemed to cease in response.

“So, have you two decided on a name, yet?” He ignored you, and went back to the baby talk.

You'd known he didn't have much to do with kids having grown up the way he had. Sam was thrilled at the prospect of being exposed to an infant before he eventually settled down into that life style himself. It had never been a secret.

As much as you disliked the man, you couldn't help but appreciate how intrigued he was with the entire thing. It was oddly adorable to see such a closed off- to you, anyway- man so enthused about new life. Though, you'd let a bus run you over before you admitted that out loud.

“We have an idea for a boy-”

“And a girl?” You asked, knowing exactly what was coming. However, you couldn't resist the jab.

“It's a boy. Why would she worry about a girl's name?” Sam looked at you as if you were crazy for even suggesting that option. The normally- when you excluded yourself from the equation- rational man was a hundred percent certain that he was right. You hoped it was a girl out of nothing short of spite.

“You're aware that we didn't allow them to give up the sex, right?” Alice chuckled at how solid Sam was on the baby's future identity.

“I just know.” You rolled your eyes at his response, earning a look from Alice that screamed for you to behave. With a low sigh and pursed lips, you forced yourself back to the nothing. Leaving your face empty as it relaxed.

“There's our favorite girl,” Dean walked in through the kitchen's entrance with Bane at his side. The proud papa-to-be was all decked out in his work gear- having landed a job with a local mechanic. Dark hair mused from the long shift. Meanwhile, his counterpart was in his usual clean cut layers. Spick and span without a hunt in sight.

“I thought I had that title?” You mock pouted as Dean trotted over to kiss Alice's cheek; forgetting about the mask you were supposed to be sporting.

“When you're stuck in a bed- or on a couch- for four months, you can have your title back.” He sat down in the rocking chair beside her, making sure he winked your way first. Dean rested as close as he could. Always the protector of the young and innocent.

“You're not crazy doped up on hormones,” Bane walked over to you. Making up for the Winchesters' neglect. “So, you definitely have the edge.” He wrapped you up into a friendly hug. Giving you a sense of calm that you hadn't felt since Sam had walked back through the bunker's entrance.

You loved the big man like a brother. The both of you had met years ago while running away from your foster homes- well before Alice had joined the party. You two had been closer back in the day. Even so, the newfound distance regular life threw between you two didn’t take away any of the affection.

“She's just crazy in general,” Sam muttered, earning a swat from the closest thing your group had to a mother figure. “What? Am I wrong?” She just stared him down. Waiting for his will to crumble. Sure enough, he gave in. “Fine, sorry.” He grumbled. Then, the conniving bastard played his hand. “See if I give you the chocolate I bought...” His lips quirked up as he teased her, knowing her weakness.

“Chocolate?” She quickly agreed with his assessment of your character; earning a small, fond, smile from Sam. You were almost jealous at how easily he had taken everyone else. You'd never once received that look.

You didn't remain long after that. Hated feeling like an outsider within your own group of peers. You never stayed long once Sam infiltrated your favorite get away zone.

Instead, you fled to the closest store to pick up more air fresheners and groceries for the bunker. You took your time. Conversing with the locals and grabbing some food. Knowing that Bane and Alice would feed the other two.

By the time you forced yourself back to the bunker, they still weren't back. Part of you was relieved. The rest of you? Frustrated. You didn't let yourself dwell on it. Instead, you threw yourself into work.

“That dick.” You hissed, pulling out the last dead fish from under your bed. Without a hitch, you tossed it into your trash can beside you. The rotting corpse churned your gut. It took everything in you not to gag as you glanced around to make sure it truly was the final one.

“He's upped his game since the last time we'd gone at it.” Dean's voice made you jump. The action slammed your skull against the frame loudly. “Oh, damn. You okay?”

“I'm good.” You rubbed your scalp lightly, wiggling out from the danger zone. “All of my clothes are in the washer. I think I finally found the last piece of tuna. And, I can kind of breath in here, again.” You had fans on, and the air fresheners were finally making a difference...slowly. “I think I'm good for right now.” It took every bit of strength you had not to rub your head as you flipped the can up to tie the bag.

“You know, if you wanted to leave...I wouldn't stop you.” Dean's words made you freeze for a moment. When you finally looked up? Dean looked haggard from the day he'd had.

“Why would I want to leave?” You played deliberately obtuse as you moved to slowly sit on your bed.

You should have known that he'd have been able to read you like a book. He was awful when it came to himself, but you? He'd noticed the wear the bunker was leaving on you.

“Come on, Y/N.” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “I'd have to be blind to miss how miserable you and Sam are around each other. And you? You seem to be having a harder time than usual. And that got me thinking-”

“It's nothing compared to some of the homes, Dean.” You sent him a soft smile. He knew all about your past, and winced at the thought of what you'd been through. “Not to mention, you two aren't the only legacies. This place... It's in my blood.” You looked around your room, taking in the only place you'd ever felt safe enough to sleep soundly in. It was amazing what a simple DNA test could uncover. “Plus, what would I do without Dean Winchester down the hall to turn to?”

“That's just it.” He was clearly bothered by what his mind had conjured up. Frowning even deeper as he started to pace. His hand moving aggressively as he talked. “We're not here all of the time. We're gone way more than we're home. You don't have me just down the hall-”

“So, get me a puppy to have for company while you're gone.” You laughed lightly. Getting to your feet, you reached to grip his broad, navy covered shoulders. Forcing him to look at you. “Dean, I'm fine. Really. If I had any complaints, I'd let you know.”

You appreciated his concern. It made up for everything else. Even with his brother's behavioral problems, you were happier in the bunker than you'd been in your entire life. It didn't matter if things were a little more heated than usual the past few weeks.

“That's just it, Y/N.” He looked you deep into the eyes. “You're always 'fine' nowadays, but when's the last time you were more than that?” Just like that, your face fell. You hated when Dean got deep, and hit home...

Part Two

#supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural reader insert #spn reader insert #sam #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #sam x you #sam x reader #sam x y/n #sam fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester reader insert #sam reader insert

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seriouslyhooked · 6 years ago

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Lost Souls and Reveries (Part 17)

22 part AU written for @cssns. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6,Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16. Story available on AO3 Here and FF Here. Banner created by the amazingly talented @shipsxahoy!!

Killian Jones is a wolf shifter without roots, without plans, and without a pack. He’s a rogue, someone humans should avoid and shifters should be wary of given his lineage. But one night years back set him on a path he didn’t realize he was taking, a path leading to a future he is destined for. That future is tied up in one woman – a human named Emma Nolan. Together Emma and Killian will find not only answers, but a love that’s truly fated. But will love be enough to set them free, or will past demons win out in the end? (Answer: love always wins – I am writing this so despite some tiny pockets of angst it’s basically a fluff-filled insta-love fest). Rated M.

A/N: Hey all! I am so glad to be back after just a week away this time, especially because I really want to get you all this resolution. I would have loved to have this chapter and the last one be just one installment, but I hit like 10,000 words and still had more to say so it just wasn’t meant to be. I hope you’ll forgive me once you read this part though, and I am so excited to see what you all think! Also, just in case it isn’t clear, there are three distinct POVs in this chapter (Killian, Liam, and Emma). Thanks as always for reading and hope you enjoy!

Witnessing the form of any man be overcome by a monster was a soul rattling thing. It chilled the blood and froze the mind, paralyzing it with anxiety and fear. But to see one’s brother go through such a horrifying change was something else all together.

For a moment, Killian caved to that panic as he watched the way his brother’s eyes flashed a hellish black and how the tension in Liam’s limbs made the lines of his body horrible and gruesome. The snarl on his face shouldn’t have been possible. No expression should convey so much hate and malice, and the growl that emanated from Liam’s chest was simultaneously low and yet sharp and scratchy. It made Killian wince, as if Liam had scraped his claws down a chalkboard, but despite the survival instincts in Killian’s head that told him to run, he stayed strong. It only took a moment for him to collect himself, to remind his now skittish animal of all he had to fight for and how nothing, not even his worst nightmare made real, would deter him from that. Killian had to protect the people he loved, and more than anything he had to fight with all he had to see his mate and his true love protected for now and always.

In seconds Killian readied himself for battle, crouching low, with every intention of shifting. His wolf was nearly at the forefront of his mind, his body just a hair away from transforming, but just before he did the monster in front of him went from totally controlling his brother to essentially disappearing. Liam physically stumbled, his body bending over as he shook his head with tremendous force, and when he looked up again his real eyes stared back at Killian, the deep darkness from before now gone. Liam was nearly normal again, though clearly had used a large amount of energy to fight back. But how? And more importantly, why?

“It’s like I said, before. The monster remains. There’s no shaking it.”

“But you’re trying to fight it,” Killian acknowledged and Liam nodded.

“Yes. I have tried everything I can to suppress it since that night. The night you spared me.”

“I might not know many details about what happened to you after our fight, brother, but I do know you stayed with the pack,” Killian bit out, his own resentment at that not hidden in the slightest. He’d thought it was a terrible idea then, and he still believed it to be so now. He had no idea how Liam would have ever rectified the want to suppress his inner demon with staying in that toxic place they once called home. “So it doesn’t add up. You fought darkness, but lingered in it too.”

“That night…” Liam paused for a moment as he tried to find the words for how everything had gone down. “That night I was unhinged and unwell, but I wasn’t fully gone, not like you thought I was. That instinct to stay with the pack – it wasn’t all the bite talking. That had always been my plan, since the moment we set out to kill Brennan.”

“You never told me that,” Killian said, not believing it even if part of him wondered if it could be true. Had Liam always wanted to return to the pack? Maybe, but the thought, even in hindsight, was so abhorrent to Killian he couldn’t fully comprehend it.

“Of course I didn’t. You never would have supported that idea. You were of one mind. All you could focus on was finding justice for Mum, and I knew there would be no discussion on the subject. I had hoped after everything was done that maybe you’d see. Maybe killing our father would free you from all your hatred of the past. Maybe you’d feel as I did, that our life back there was more than evil and power and greed. There was still good in where we came from. It just had to be nurtured and fought for.”

“Sounds like bullshit,” Tink said, her words reminding both brothers that she was still here, something Killian had already forgotten.

“It’s true,” Liam reaffirmed, his aggravation growing, but his eyes remained a steady cerulean as he looked at Tink. “I always planned to rid the ugliness from our past, and from our family.”

“Oh sure, that’s possible,” Tink said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “Hell, I’d say it’s even likely, seeing as you’re related to Killian, who does everything he can to be a good guy. But that bite should have changed everything. If you really wanted to make things better, you should have known you weren’t the man to do it. You were compromised, and you clearly still are.”

“I did know I wasn’t the one to truly make things right,” Liam confessed. “And despite knowing I still tried anyway because I was selfish. I fooled myself into thinking I would be okay. When Killian left, the beast inside me calmed a hell of a lot. He never truly went away, but he was quieter, less agitated. I hovered above the monster, and I did what needed doing. I got rid of the old guard, all of the pack who supported Brennan -,”

“They all supported him, Liam. Every last one of them,” Killian spat out and Liam shook his head.

“No, not all of them. They didn’t support him; they endured him. The fear we felt wasn’t ours alone to shoulder. There were many others stuck in the same torturous cycles, hoping for escape without finding it. Mothers scared for their cubs, fathers who knew that defecting from the pack would put a mark on them and their families forever. Brennan was ruthless and he hated nothing more than disloyalty. Everyone was trapped, and just because they all didn’t show the bravery of our mother doesn’t mean they all deserved to be condemned.”

Killian remained quiet. He knew that at some level Liam was right. The cubs were absolutely without guilt, for none of them could choose the pack they were born to or the rules of their clan. And yes, Killian remembered that there was fear beyond his own little world. People got quiet around his father, and the women especially made sure never to linger too long in his presence. It was always a place filled with whispers and walking on eggshells. Still, Killian knew that even if the bite hadn’t come between them he never would have stayed. Some might say Killian wasn’t strong enough to face the past. They might think he lacked honor for not going and rebuilding what was broken, but Killian didn’t see it as his duty to fix what his father had created. He wanted no part of Brennan’s legacy, and if he’d been forced to face it he’d have disbanded the clan and told every single member that they’d be better off starting over somewhere without all the baggage and heartbreak.

“I know you think the pack should have dissolved, and there’s merit to that thinking, but what you failed to see was that as much pain as the pack brought, the pack was also family. For better or worse, it was all most of them ever knew, and breaking that bond is painful. It’s like leaving a part of yourself behind forever. You never felt that when we were kids, but I did, and I knew how much it hurt and how badly I wished it never happened. I didn’t want to take anything more from anyone, so I tried to heal the hurts instead.”

“And how did that work?” Killian asked skeptically.

“It was slow going, but there was steady progress. A few years in and we’d discharged all of the remaining dissenters. Brennan’s core backers were gone, and the members that remained began to believe that more might be possible for the first time in a long time. We set new rules, we cleansed the laws of the pack, and we started to build something everyone could be proud of.”

“Sounds like a fairy tale,” Tink joked and Liam winced.

“Hardly. Much as I tried to deny it, I was still sick. I could play at being healed all I wanted, hell I even fooled myself into thinking I was still on solid ground. I told no one I was infected, and I lived for a long time like nothing was wrong. But it wasn’t that simple. I might have been caging my animal, but I was still feeding it every day. I made all of them rely on me. I amassed substantial power as alpha, both within our pack and outside it, even if it wasn’t through fear as Brennan had. I was in total command and that soothed the beast which lusted for control, but all it took was one moment to show me how wrong I was in thinking that I could ever overcome this.”

“What happened?”

“What always happens in pack life: an outsider came and challenged me, thinking he stood a chance to take what I’d,” Liam stalled, shaking his head and changing his wording purposefully. “What we had been building.”

“That’s not so unusual,” Tink said, though her nose scrunched up slightly in a show of disgust. “Well not for wolves anyway. You’re all so abrasive, that just comes with the territory.”

The joke fell flat though Killian knew in another situation he’d have laughed. Tink’s thoughts on other shifters were usually entertaining to him, but the look of regret in Liam’s eyes told Killian his brother’s dark deed had crossed a line. He could only imagine what that might have been like.

“A challenge is normal, yes, but there are customs now. We don’t fight to the death like the wolves of old. We fight until surrender or until one side can’t fight anymore. We aren’t supposed to see an attacker and think that the only way forward is draining the life from them. We aren’t supposed to welcome that kind of fight while vehemently resenting anyone for trying to stake a claim. Our animal shouldn’t crave cruelty or demand death.”

“But yours did.”

“Aye. Looking back it’s like someone else’s memory, but that fight… hell it was worse than ours ever had the chance to be. I was ruthless. I’d won the match ten times over, but the bite had me taunting and tormenting my opponent. I wouldn’t just have killed him. This was torture. This was blood sport…” Liam said, his eyes haunted and his shame written clear as day on his face. “It took every member of the pack to get me back from the depths of my demons, and even then they couldn’t fully stop me. I was possessed, consumed with this evil need. I was seconds away from finally killing him, but the ruckus of the pack distracted me, enough that I saw my reflection in the creek. My eyes were worse than black…”

“They were shattered,” Killian said, knowing the way his father had looked when they fought him, and remembering how ungodly the sight was.

“They were on the edge, the fragments were forming. The last pieces of my soul were withering away far faster than I imagined, and only in seeing that could I find a way to stop. And the only way to stop was to leave, so I ran.”

“Wait, you left?” Killian asked, shocked that after everything Liam would have ever left the pack for any length of time.

“I had to. I was stricken with the wants of the sickness for days. I couldn’t shift back to human form, all I could do was run, trying to exhaust myself and keep myself from turning back and finishing the job. Finally I passed out from the lack of food and water and sleep, but even then, when the fog of it all lifted I knew I couldn’t return. I called my second in command, and I told him I was done. The beast in me was too much, and I had to save the little control I have left for something more important. I had to save it for you, Killian. I had to try and mend things between us the best I could after everything that’s happened. I’m only glad you’ve found your happiness when you did, so Ruby’s block could be lifted and I could get here in time. It’s been over a year and each day I searched in vain, knowing I was never really close and would likely never find you. So you see, you finding your mate isn’t just your miracle, but mine too.”

Killian allowed that to sink in, and finally he accepted that Liam was really trying to do the right thing. This wasn’t a trick or a game. It was a genuine attempt by his elder brother to make amends. That was more than Killian had ever dared to dream of, but in accepting this to be fact Killian also realized that his brother’s words all pointed to a sadness he could not comprehend. Liam wasn’t here to hurt him, but he was here to say goodbye, and that goodbye was going to be a final one.

“So you mean to tell me that you withstood the bite for years, rebuilt the pack, overcame the beast again and have been tirelessly tracking me in the hopes of saying you’re sorry?”

“You’ve colored the story in my favor by putting it that way, but yes. It will never be enough, but I am sorry, Killian. I’m sorry for all of it. I miscalculated with Brennan even though we’d trained so hard. He never should have bit me in the first place, but I fucked up and he did. Then I caved so quickly to the crazy impulses this sickness brings, only to put you in the most impossible position. I can never take back that night, but if I could I truly would. More than anything though I want you to know that I tried. I tried to be the man you still believed was in me when you spared my life. I tried to be a man you and Mum could be proud of. I tried as long as I could.”

“And so now what, it’s just over? You’re giving up?” Tink asked, her own hard exterior defenses softening as she grappled with the self-sacrifice Liam was planning to make.

“There’s no other way. I can’t live with this beast without succumbing to it,” Liam confessed, his resigned manner making Killian’s heart ache even more. “I’m a threat to everyone I meet. It’s barely restrained. The monster keeps rising closer and closer to the surface. Seeing you right now is the work of so much time, brother, and it’s all I ever wanted, but the pain I feel at holding onto everything is almost blinding. Frankly it’s miraculous I’ve held on this long. Soon enough the dam will break, and when it does I’ll be gone, and you and the people you care about here will be in real danger. So I have to stop that from happening. I can’t become what our father was. I won’t.”

“So you’ll die a hero then, a man who overcame to spare the rest of us. Because that’s what you’re saying. You’re saying you have to die. That you have to…” Killian couldn’t even form the rest of the terrible words, instead leaving the implication hanging in the air around them.

“It’s the only way.”

“I don’t believe that,” Killian said. “I might have bought that before. If you found me even a few months ago I would have been jaded enough to do so, but now… there’s too much good in the world for this to end like this Liam. There’s hope that lives here, hope like we’ve never known before, hope you deserve to feel.”

“Your mate, you love her,” Liam said and Killian nodded, now not distressed at Liam’s casual mention of Emma or at the thoughtful smile that formed on Liam’s face. “She’s your light and your hope, just like Mum used to say a mate should be, and I’m happy for you, brother, happier than you’ll ever know. I only wish I had the chance to meet the woman who could be so much to my favorite person.”

“Killian!”

The call from Emma that sounded through the woods at this most opportune time caused Killian to move forward, soon enough she appeared at the tree line with Ruby, Elsa, and Anna, and when she did Killian could see her fierce want to be with him and to protect him. She didn’t realize that he didn’t need protection, but at least now Liam could see the light that he had guessed at previously. He could have one wish granted in the end.

As he was thinking that though, Liam surprised Killian by springing towards Emma and her friends, and Killian’s good thoughts evaporated at the perceived threat. Liam moved with lightening speed, charging in Emma’s direction and Killian matched his pace, acting on instinct until he’d come to stand right before his love, protecting her as best he could, but then he realized it wasn’t Emma Liam had in his sights, it was Elsa. The expression on Liam’s face was torn and in flux, his eyes flashed between blue and the brilliant color of a healthy wolf, but all of his attention was settled on Emma’s best friend. One moment he was joyous, the next confused, and concerned. His actions were strange and almost unknowable, but then Killian realized something: Elsa must truly matter to Liam. She must call to him, and intrigue him in a way that he couldn’t control himself. She must be…

……………

My mate!

The words repeating over and over in his head the moment Liam laid eyes on the fair-haired beauty before him were undeniable, and even stranger they were said in the tone of his wolf pre-sickness. The demons that had taken up residence in his mind the past few years were silent, and all there was to focus on was this impossibly beautiful woman.

For a few beats of his heart, Liam experienced a rush of yearning and rightness. For the first time in years he felt like he had a chance at being whole and at being more than okay again. Acting on instinct he moved toward this familiar stranger, pulled by something stronger than gravity to be closer in her orbit. He barely even took in the others in her presence. Ruby was there, and he spared her the same fleeting glance that he gave to the other two women. One was clearly Killian’s mate, as his brother had charged to stand in front of her in a show of protection, but Killian’s face wasn’t animated with anger. Instead he looked perplexed and then a small smile began to tug at his lips as understanding dawned on him. Liam didn’t have time to make heads or tails of that; all he wanted was to get to his angel – his mate.

“Liam, stop!” Ruby said fiercely, putting her body between him and the woman he wanted so badly and Liam felt a growl growing in his chest, but he ultimately halted in his tracks. He met his cousin’s eyes, which were slightly clouded in that familiar way that said she was here in this moment while also receiving one of the visions she’d been having since childhood. When it had passed Liam growled low again, not liking the distance from his new found other half, and though Ruby seemed more relaxed than a moment ago, her fear had shifted to annoyance very quickly. “Seriously, quit it or you’ll scare her.”

“Uh, isn’t that the point?” one of the other women whispered. Looking at her, Liam could see some similarities between this woman and his blue-eyed beauty. They must be related somehow, but Liam’s gaze only stayed with her a moment before returning to his impossible dream again. “He’s the bad guy, remember?”

“He’s not,” his mate said sternly, speaking for the first time in his presence. Her voice rang out with indescribable melody, and each word, each subtle intonation lapped at his very soul like a gentle wave on the shore.

Her eyes didn’t demure in any way as he continued to stare her down, instead she met his gaze head on, and the emotion that he saw in those crystal blue pools nearly knocked him over. She was already fierce in her want to protect him and defend him despite not knowing him at all, and God he could just see how sweet and pure she was. Her hair was so light it could hardly be real, and though she’d tied it back in a tidy, elegant braid, Liam longed to see it set free. So many little dreams passed before his eyes – flashes of what he wanted with her, of what he wished could be. He never imagined anything like her before, he longed to reach out and touch her and to hold her close. She was sunlight in the midst of so much shadow, but he’d never deserve her, and he knew rationally that they could never be together, even if he’d never wanted anything more.

“I am though, love. And this… it can’t happen. I can’t be here,” Liam murmured. The realization was worse than anything he’d ever felt. He’d do all of life’s most terrible moments over again a million times to avoid this fate. He’d give anything to have things be different, but they weren’t. He was broken, and though he didn’t even know her name, Liam knew he’d never subject this angel to the burdens that he carried.

“You can,” his mate replied, her eyes holding so much softness even in the face of his brusque attempt at cold.

“Elsa?” The woman who clearly belonged with Killian looked for guidance and more clarification from his mate, and Liam rejoiced at hearing her name for the first time. Elsa – so unique and uncommon, just like her.

“It’s all right, Emma. It’s going to be okay,” Elsa said before looking back to him and speaking directly to him again. “You’re going to be okay.”

“No, I’m not. It’s – God it’s a sick joke! I live long enough to find you, but I can’t have you.”

“Yes you can. I can help you,” Elsa said, her voice lilting with the same calm and warmth despite the fact that his own was edging towards full-blown despair.

“Help him?” Ruby asked, her face giving every hint that her visions weren’t serving her as well as she wanted right now. She couldn’t read the future that his mate seemed so certain of, but without even hearing the details, Liam felt himself start to believe this remarkable woman. He knew nothing of Elsa, but at the same time he knew everything, and if she believed then he would to. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I can heal him,” Elsa announced, totally and completely assured of herself.

“How?” Everyone except for Liam asked at the same time, and then Elsa smiled as she very clearly replied.

“Because I’m his mate.”

“MATE?!” the girl who looked like Elsa asked exuberantly. “Did you just say mate? Did my sister just say mate?!”

“Yes, Anna, I said mate,” Elsa said, her own happiness bubbling up into a tinkling laugh that sounded out like the chimes of a bell.

Liam’s chest filled with pride at her claiming him like this, and he knew he’d never felt such joy in his life. That she would feel all he felt for her was incredible, and that she could see past the darkness that he was… well it was the best thing that had ever happened in his life. It was only topped by the moment that his Elsa stepped forward, finally taking his hand in hers. At the contact he was overcome with elation in a way that defied description. All he knew was one moment he was a jumble of feelings and the next he was truly peaceful. For the first time in a long time all his monsters were at bay, and he felt anchored even as he reveled in this taste of true freedom. Then he watched as a swirl of light began to emanate from her. It was magic, raw, powerful light magic, and he felt it seep into him, warming him through and making him feel like more than he’d ever been, even before the bite.

“See what I mean?” Elsa whispered so quietly he was sure only he could here. “We can handle this. We’ll figure this out together.”

“Together,” Liam mused as his hands pulled her closer so she was flush against his body. “Got to say I love the sound of that.”

And though they’d only just met, and their journey together was still as new as new could be, Liam felt euphoric when his mate moved upwards to press a kiss to his lips. As crazy as this was, and as sudden as the shift had been from all hope being lost to every dream coming true, Liam wouldn’t have it any other way. Lost in the love he already felt coursing through him for her, he allowed the weight of his world to slip away, and as long as he had Elsa by his side, he knew there were no more beasts and no more demons that could ever be successful in holding him down.

……………

“So this hasn’t gone exactly as expected,” Emma commented as the rest of them watched Elsa and Liam connecting closer to the middle of the field. They were caught up in a heated kiss, but what was truly awe inspiring was the flow of magic all around them. You could see it and feel it all around them, and without even needing to be told of any set plans or remedies, Emma knew her friend was right when she said she’d be the one to heal Killian’s brother.

To be honest though, this was quite literally one of the last things Emma ever could have anticipated. Even if she had believed that there was a chance that Liam might still be savable, she couldn’t have ever expected that his savior would be Elsa or that her best friend would find the same kind of true love in an instant as Emma and Killian had. It was a truly remarkable thing, and as she watched Liam and Elsa’s embrace she felt her eyes grow misty. This was such a blessing for so many reasons, not the least of which was that Killian would have one of the most important people in his life back. Finally after so long so many of his old hurts could heal, and in the process Elsa would hopefully find her own happily ever after, which Emma knew she absolutely deserved.

“No, love. I think it’s safe to say this has gone completely off the rails.”

“In a good way though,” Emma joked and Killian laughed, pressing a light kiss to her lips.

“Aye, in the best way. My brother has returned, Elsa is confident that she can heal him, and it turns out they are fated mates. Who would believe it?”

“Well while we’re on the subject of mates, the new sheriff is making my wolf act up. Could be nothing but -,”

Before Ruby could get the words out a growl sounded from the woods, and Emma looked over to see a giant wolf at the tree line. It was clear the wolf had been there for some time, and Emma had to assume this was Graham. Even though she’d been around shifters more and more the past few weeks, it was still an amazing thing to see. These animals were gorgeous and different and huge, and yet it was still totally Graham. Emma couldn’t explain it, there was just something about the way this wolf carried himself. Well that and the way that he was not pleased with Ruby underselling their connection, which was admittedly hilarious. Still, there was so much happening here, Emma couldn’t help shaking her head in continued disbelief.

“That doesn’t sound like ‘nothing,’” Anna said gleefully. “In fact, it sounds like this might just be my favorite day ever!”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally here for the surprise love fest,” Tink replied as she stuck her thumb out in Graham’s general direction, “Especially if it means seeing this guy find someone after years of telling me he never would. You owe me a hundred bucks by the way, Humbert.”

Graham’s wolf made what was probably the animal equivalent of an amused snort, which caused everyone to laugh, except for Ruby who rolled her eyes in feigned annoyance.

“Oh what, like it’s hard to be fated for me?” Her words were barely out of her mouth and Graham had shifted back, holding her close and making her gasp as he leaned in to reassure her.

“Easiest thing I’ve ever done, babe. Count on that.” The words, corny as they sounded to Emma, made Ruby swoon, which in turn seemed to set off Elsa and Liam and even she and Killian.

“Okay, cool it cowboy. It’s been like ten minutes and there are other people present,” Tink said, sternly reminding the couples that now was not the time or place. “Like I was saying, this absolutely beats a battle to the death. But I gotta ask… are we actually out of the woods here? Is Liam safe to be around or to even have in town for that matter?”

“He’s safe,” Elsa and Ruby said at the same time and Emma felt the last of Killian’s tension leave him as he exhaled at their assurances.

“So it’s over then? That’s it?” Emma asked, her whole attitude brightening at the thought that this great daunting doom that had hung over them so long was finally through. Now she and Killian could get on with the whole settling in and building a life together thing, something that she was definitely ready for. And more than that, Liam not being a threat meant all of them were safe now. Her family could stop worrying, and her friends could rest easy. In short, this was a spectacular turn of events.

“Well I wouldn’t say it’s over,” Anna acknowledged with a wave of her hand. “It seems to me that it’s really only beginning. Plus if you think we’re ending this and I don’t get a fated match too then you’re crazy. I’ll be patient, but I will be finding true love, you hear me?”

It was impossible not to laugh at Anna’s words, and Emma tucked herself into Killian as she did, loving the rumble of his laughter as it moved against her at Anna’s antics. Closing her eyes for a brief moment Emma allowed herself to just take this all in. The sun was shining, the breeze was gentle as it moved through the glen, and the air around them crackled with that sense of rightness that Emma usually only felt when she and Killian were alone and trying to forget the world. That she could feel this with everyone was a gift, and Emma knew this was a turning point; it just had to be.

“Well, I think there’s really only one question left to ask,” Tink said with a look of pure amusement on her face. “Who’s telling the Nolans?”

“Not it!” Emma, Anna, and Elsa all chimed at the same time, but before they could debate amongst themselves who would deliver the updates to her parents, her mother’s voice interrupted over the static of the radio that no one had noticed until just now.

“Hey, I heard that! Oh shoot I forgot to say over. I heard that, over.”

Tink looked shocked and Emma knew that this wasn’t some elaborate prank. Tink was genuinely unaware that Mary Margaret had been listening in. They were all astounded, well all of them except Graham who immediately looked embarrassed. He motioned to the radio he’d been wearing and finally seemed to notice it had been set to on this whole time, even when he’d been in wolf form.

“That’s my bad. I gave her the extra radio at the station yesterday. Figured it would be the best way to keep them in the loop. I didn’t realize it was on all this time.”

“Was it really though?” Emma asked, knowing her mother could fully hear her now. “I don’t know how likely it is that Mom could hear everything happening today and keep quiet. First you and Ruby, then Elsa and Liam. It would have been an awful lot of temptation…”

“Emma!” Her Mom said with a tone of censure, but then there was mumbling in the background and she heard her mother sigh. “Okay fine, I wanted to say things but your father reminded me that if I did Graham would probably shut off the feed, and I just couldn’t risk it.”

“I may not know your parents well, but that sounds about right,” Ruby said with a smirk. “And five bucks says Granny’s in on this too.”

“No one’s dumb enough to take that bet,” Killian joked and sure enough Granny’s voice came through the feed confirming that she was there and enjoying all the updates as well.

“Oh I’m here, and I have all sorts of questions for this man who thinks he’s good enough for my Ruby Lee.”

“Oh Jesus,” Ruby said with the first show of embarrassment she’d had today. She grabbed the walkie talkie from Graham and finally put this all to bed.

“All right you three, show’s over. You’ve had your fun. Granny, I will see you tomorrow,” Ruby said, before backtracking after looking back at Graham whose eyes were on her and filled with both heat and a quizzical question asking if she’d really be up for company tomorrow. “Scratch that, I’ll see you soon…ish. You want references, you got them sitting right next to you. I’m sure Mary Margaret and David are all too happy to fill you in on all things Graham.”

Anna then took the reciever from Ruby and gave her own message to Emma’s parents. “And don’t worry, I was only playing earlier. I’ll be over to fill you in on everything you missed. All I ask is that you make one of your awesome blueberry pies. I don’t have a man yet, so I should at least get some damn dessert.”

Emma bit back another laugh at how quickly her mother agreed to that proposition, and over the next few minutes the group disbanded, with the new mates going to find alone time as Anna and Tink headed towards her parents house. For Emma and Killian though, there was so much to be said and so much to discuss, but Emma knew that they wouldn’t get into the details tonight. No, she didn’t see much in the way of talking happening tonight at all, not when the relief she felt was so distinctly mirrored in her mate’s eyes, and not when the lifting of the Liam burden had left space only for love and hope and happiness.

“Picture it, love,” Killian said as he brought her into the house, locking the door behind them and then pulling her into his arms so there was no space left between them. “A whole night just you and me and some good old fashioned peace and quiet.”

“Well I don’t know about quiet…” Emma teased as her hand trailed down his chest, her voice dropping a bit lower and the huskiness of her want for him sounding out undeniably in her tone. “I kind of like when we get all worked up.”

Killian’s growl gave away how much he loved that too, and the next thing she knew he was sweeping her up and bringing them to the bedroom. Whether it was shifter speed or just Emma’s own infatuated state any time Killian put his hands on her she didn’t know, but it felt like one second her feet were on the ground and the next she was pinned against the door in their bedroom as Killian gazed at her with lust and love and longing.

“Allow me to be more clear,” Killian murmured his mouth whispering the words against her skin between kisses as he moved from his lips to her jaw, down her neck and lower. “Tonight it’s just you and me and the love between us. Nothing – and I do mean nothing – is getting between me and my mate tonight.”

Killian murmured the words as he practically ripped the clothing from her body, and Emma was mindless to do anything but claw away the clothes he still had on too. She went from teasing to needy in the blink of an eye, and from the hungry, predatory gaze Killian sent her way, Emma knew the night before them would be anything but fast. No, Killian had other plans, and if the already delicious torment of his hands and his mouth were anything to go by, Emma was going to be more than satisfied in every way.

“Every day I wonder if I’ll be used to this yet,” Killian rasped against her skin as he brought her to the bed, trailing his wicked mouth along the bared flesh of her neck. He nipped lightly at one of the mating marks he’d left on her and Emma jumped, her body so hot and ready and wanting though they’d barely even begun. “I wonder if your beauty will stop taking my breath away, or if I’ll feel anything but awe here in your presence. Will my heart stop feeling fit to burst? Will my need ever calm or wane away?”

“And the verdict?” Emma asked as one of his hands moved up her thigh as his lips moved down to her breasts, his touches moving between gentle and demanding, riling her up so effortlessly.

“It’s a waste of wondering, love. For there will never come a day when I don’t crave you. I need you, Emma, more than anything the world over, and I love you in ways I can’t possibly put in words.”

“So show me,” Emma begged, her voice a breathy moan as Killian’s lips turned up in a sinfully sexy smirk.

“That’s exactly what I plan to do.”

Emma was so torn in this moment. Mindless with pleasure and crescendoing desire, she wanted to close her eyes and revel in all of his ministrations. His fingers came to touch her most intimate skin, and the brush of his thumb on her clit as his teeth nipped the sensitive part of her breast pulled more moans from within her. But if she looked away from him now, Emma would deny herself the pleasure of seeing the man she was made for looking both fantastically wild and totally in control. Killian was so damn attractive. He always had her thinking the dirtiest things and craving something more, no matter the time of day, but seeing him like this, totally assured and completely in command of her body had her arching to be closer to him. He was magnificent right now – and if someone were to tell her there was a world outside of this bed right now she’d hardly believe them. She was so caught up in this moment, so strung out sensation, all she could do was feel and want and beg for more.

“Killian,” she pleaded, words failing her, and then he growled with satisfaction against her skin.

The hum of his territorial action pushed Emma’s already aching need towards the edge of release. Then the anticipation pushed her still closer as he moved down her body, his lips tasting every part of her until his mouth came to feast on her, tormenting her into marvelous madness. She shattered so quickly, but her mate wasn’t anywhere near satisfied. He pulled her climax from her only to tease her more, building her up and taking another. He seemed hell bent on a third but Emma was brazen now and desperate for more. She pulled him back up to her, and when he thrust inside, filling her completely she felt nothing but satisfaction and the most ethereal sense of completion.

There was no telling how long they were locked together like this. Both of them were consumed with the other, chasing release and saying with words and with actions everything they felt. This was more than love; it was destiny while somehow also being a choice. No matter what the mating call had said, Emma knew that their love transcended all of that. Nature was strong, but somehow this was stronger, and the pull of wanting never seemed to fade between them.

“You’re mine,” Emma whispered, when they were both spent and exhausted, as she placed another kiss to the place just above his heart. She must have said it a thousand times tonight, but each time it was both a claiming and a prayer. She was so happy to have this and to have Killian, and there was no denying that he felt the same.

“And you’re mine, Emma. For far longer than forever.”

With those beautiful promises in mind, Emma lay there, wrapped up in her mate thinking about how sure this thing between them was. And as she drifted off to sleep, it was almost hard to discern reality from fantasy, because life, right here in this moment, was better than any dream. Because this life was real and it was hers and it was filled with endless, glorious, wonderful possibility.

Post-Note: So some of you (okay probably all of you) must have seen this coming. I would never be able to write something so painful as losing Liam or Killian having to kill his brother. I always knew ever since the start that Liam and Elsa would be mates, and I knew that the only way to heal Liam would require magic. There’s much more to come in terms of the bite and how Elsa will help Liam, so rest assured that will be covered. And there’s also quite a few more chapters left to go. My plan is to have 22 chapters and then potentially an additional epilogue, and trust me when I tell you there is plenty more story yet, and all of our twists and turns are not quite over. Anyway thanks so much to all of you for all your love and support. It might be few weeks or so until I get to publish my next chapter because I am doing a lot of traveling now that school is out, but I promise it’s coming! Thanks again and hope you all have a great rest of your week!

Tag list: @jennjenn615, @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @teamhook, @ultraluckycatnd, @resident-of-storybrooke, @artistic-writer, @snowbellewells, @snarkycaptainswan4, @allofdafandoms-blog

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shoujosoulsearching · 6 years ago

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Mars, AKA The Shoujo Manga with Too Much Emotional Baggage for One Woman to Carry

SPOILER WARNING!!!

The Roman god of war, Mars, was said to love violence and conflict--he was known as the embodiment of bloodthirst. Unlike his Greek counterpart Ares, however, who was considered to be more destructive in nature, Mars was seen as more of a protector, a bringer of peace.

With a title like Mars, one has to wonder what side of the Roman god is going to be showcased in the story: the bloodthirsty divine or the righteous guardian? For a shoujo manga, you’d expect it to go the latter, but upon reading Fuyumi Souryo’s fifteen-volume teenage melodrama, the answer to that question turns out to be much more complicated than you think.

The actual story itself has nothing to do with the literal god named Mars--he’s only explicitly shown in the first volume as a statue, which our playboy prince charming, Rei Kashino, approaches and kisses on the mouth. Kira Aso, our introverted and artistic leading lady, is infatuated with this sight and asks Rei to become a model for her to sketch during her free time. From that moment onwards, their relationship blossoms, and they both bring out things in each other that would have never been brought to the surface if they had never met.

While it has its fair amount of stereotypes what sets Mars apart from its contenders is the way the main couple is portrayed. Rei and Kira are individually appealing characters, and their qualities are only enhanced as they grow closer throughout the story.

Our leading man Rei is the first character that truly jumps off the page from the get-go. A motorcycle-riding playboy who couldn’t care less about school, Rei’s a boy with deep-rooted issues and a devil-may care attitude. He has an unmeasurable sense of justice, and while he has a sense of morality, he won’t always uphold it when the situation tests him. If he gets a bad feeling from someone, he will immediately turn to hostility--but only when the event pertains to something he wants, or something he cares about. He understands what the “right” thing to do is, but he doesn’t care. As long as he isn’t stopped by Kira or someone else’s plea, he will fix the problem in a way that satisfies him.

This type of violent behavior would usually be associated with a sociopath, but upon further inspection that turns out to not be the case. Most of Rei’s questionable actions come from a post-conventional reasoning, and it’s apparent that whenever he acts out it’s because he’s either been deeply hurt by something in the past or he’s afraid to lose what he cherishes in the present. I’m not at all justifying his actions, but the point is that Rei has never been a true monster, and whatever monstrous aspects he had to him were eventually blurred away by Kira (who was the first person to ever love him that wasn’t incredibly toxic.)

The main difference between a sociopath like Masao Kirishima and someone like Rei, is that Rei is just a teenager who’s been hurt one too many times and only knows how to self medicate using violence. He had never been policed for his actions in a proper way. As we learn in the last volume, his memories were altered during his time in the psychiatric ward to lessen his trauma. Once you look beyond his blunt and aggressive exterior, Rei is the most genuine character in the entire series. He’s just a teenage boy that’s been through too much hardship that he never deserved, and was never emotionally mature enough to handle all of it. He’s rightfully angry at the world--until he meets Kira.

It took time for our heroine to shine like her male counterpart did, but a few volumes in, Kira becomes a show-stopping character. Originally an immovable introvert only interested in painting and nothing else, Kira grows into her own loving, hopeful person. One of the things I appreciated the most about Mars was it’s portrayal of mental illness--nothing is never outwardly said, but it’s obvious that Kira had been going through not only anxiety but a deep, dark depression she can’t bring herself back from. The way Kira thought about death, the way she always put others needs before her own, etc, made her real and relatable to me on a personal level. I’ve had those same issues my entire life, and seeing Kira slowly and surely come into her own throughout each volume wasn’t just satisfying, was inspiring.

The most tantalizing reveal about Kira and why she acts the way she does is when we learn that she was raped by her stepfather in middle school. Not only did she start isolating herself after the incident, she began to live in her head, where a more sinister, damaged and unhinged Kira would imagine killing herself and those around her. This is an extremely serious subject to dive into--and Mars doesn’t cover up the darkness behind it. It’s not romanticized, it’s ugly and depressing, and the worst part is that we never get the feeling that Kira will ever fully recover from it. Yes, she learns to become intimate with Rei because she trusts him--but it’s implied that in the deepest, darkest parts of her soul, that horrible memory will continue to live on.

The first thing that struck me, and my favorite aspect of the entire series, was how genuine the relationship between Rei and Kira felt--several times in the story there’d be a break where they would just talk, and not talk as in they’d tell each other things that would move the plot forward, or with a clear purpose in mind--they have actual conversations. They talk about each other’s hobbies, about their existential crises, things that actual teenagers talk to each other about. With every heart-to-heart comes another glimpse into who these two are as people, and it becomes apparent that they cherish and remember every word they say to each other. It’s clear that these two characters grow because of each other, and turn one another into the best versions of themselves. They’re honest and authentic with each other in ways only adolescents can be. As two teenagers who’ve never had anyone to be their shoulder to cry on, their relationship just feels right, and their marriage at the end of the series is one of the most wholesome and satisfying things I’ve read in a shoujo manga.

Up until now I’ve sung praises to Mars for the two main characters and their dynamic, but unfortunately, besides a few exceptions, the rest of the characters in the series are either uninteresting, unlikable or just straight up garbage human beings. To keep it short, just seeing Shiori, Kurosawa or Harumi on every panel would get me peeved. Masao Kirishima was the last straw for me, however; once I got deep enough into his arc I ended up putting down the series for a few days, because I couldn’t stand his presence (not to mention the ONLY canonically LGBT character just HAD to be an evil psychopath who wanted to kill people for pleasure…..REALLY……) but I’ll throw in a head-canon saying that these characters only exist for me to appreciate the main couple more (which it did) so I could look over it.

By far Mars’ biggest problem is it’s tone. Soap operas can be fun, don’t get me wrong, and there are plenty of times where Mars gets it right--but also plenty of times where it becomes overbearing. The series was probably best to read week by week when it was being released in Bessatsu Friend magazine; it’s not hard to imagine Souryo stuffing in enough melodrama in each chapter before it’s release in order to keep reader’s interest. Marathon-reading it is very much a different experience. And it doesn’t help that It’s clear that this is a product of its time. A lot of popular shoujo manga in the 90s tended to stretch the drama, i.e. the insane level of bullying, the evil side characters insisting on keeping the main couple apart, etc.

Using an example from Mars, Rei reveals he used to have a brother, who is actually dead, and when Kira asks how he died, before Rei can answer, a man jumps off a building and the police are called. Rei has a panic attack after seeing this, and it’s implied that his brother died from suicide. Then, we go back to the high school where it’s revealed that a character named Kurosawa also attempted suicide, and is currently getting treatment. Then Rei and Kira go out on a date. ALL IN ONE CHAPTER. If you got exhausted reading that, try reading that page-to-page in one sitting. It was entertaining, sure, but it took me out of the immersion every now and again.

I can shit on these aspects as much as I want, but without them, Mars wouldn’t be Mars. It’s apart of its charm, in an odd way, and it only enhances everything the series does right. At times, it’s as if Mars is drowning you in it’s depressing conflict and weighing you down with it’s emotional baggage, enjoying every second of your agony--but in the end it always comes back around, making wrongs rights and surprising you with its tenderness. That’s why I think this manga has the perfect title. I doubt Fuyumi Souryo intended for this, but in its own roundabout way, I believe Mars is an allegory for the Roman god, and a good one that you definitely shouldn’t miss out on.

And I’m giving this one a STAR rating.

(Check out my other manga analyses here, and my standards here.)

(Follow me on twitter @/choerrychrist)

#shoujo #shoujo manga #shoujo caps #mangacaps #screencaps #shoujo screencap #shoujo notes #shoujo anime #mars #mars manga #90s anime #anime #star rating #rei #kira #my review

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thedarkenedkeeper · 7 years ago

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Glitched: Part 9 - No Strings Attached

Author's Note: *drags self along the ground, bloodied and beaten up, and hands over the newest chapter* I...I'm alive...barely...HOLY X_X

I'm not going to give anything away about this chapter, however, there will be an ending author's note, elaborating why this chapter is crucial to the story.

WARNING: This chapter is incredibly dark and graphic. For anyone who read Part 6, it's basically a lot like that. There is a horrible sense of dread and horror throughout the chapter. There is a detailed description of a surgical operation being performed, as well as the tools that are used. The patient who undergoes the surgery is conscious during the procedure, and as such, feels everything and is in horrible agony. There is bloodshed and a intensity here and there. There is also an overwhelming amount of angst - again.

Listen to this playlist while reading

Enjoy!

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock – 3:56 P.M. – four minutes remaining.

Tick tock, tick tock – Three minutes.

Tick tock – Two minutes.

With each subtle second that ticked by, the green-haired Irishman’s dread increased. There he sat on the stone-cold ground in the furthest corner of the cell, hugging his knees to his chest. The poor man was a quivering mess from both the cold and the fear creeping along his spine. His eyes were fixed on the watch that lay across from him, not batting an eye as he stared directly at it; lifeless eyes blown wide with horror. He had exactly two minutes left to live and then Anti was coming for him.

Two minutes and then death was coming for him in the flesh.

He tensed up, his grip tightening around his legs. He wasn’t ready to die. He may have been caged in this hell for nine whole months, all hope lost and gone forever. He may have been tortured both physically and mentally more times than he could count, and this room he was in may have been the reason for why he was rotting from the inside out. But no matter how bad it was getting, no matter how horrific and brutal, he was not ready for death. He was afraid of it, especially when it took on the form of an unhinged version of himself welding a large knife.

Jack had heard the scream for help – just barely, but he had made it out. Immediately, he had lifted his head to look off into the darkness, adrenaline and dread coursing through his veins. That scream had sounded an awful lot like it had belonged to Henrik, and if it had…the YouTuber couldn’t even begin to fathom the thought of what could’ve happened.

Jack shivered violently, a gust of cool air rushing past the back of his neck. The temperature had dropped sufficiently in the last hour, so much so to the point he was starting to see his own breath. Funny – when he had first found himself in the cage, the room had been sweltering hot, and now it was the exact opposite. He didn’t know which would’ve been worse – dying from the heat or from the freezing cold. He scoffed at the question. Death – that’s all he found himself thinking about lately. He didn’t want it, and yet his mind always managed to wander off into complete darkness. A weak nervous chuckle left his chapped trembling lips. Funny…

Tick tock, tick tock

Releasing a shaken breath, followed by a faint raspy gasp that almost came out as a whimper, the brows of the Irishman weaved out of distress at what the watch now read.

4:00 P.M – it was too late. It was time for his execution.

Without a second thought, Jack’s eyes shot up to the door off in the distance, all of the blood draining from his face as he made out loud stomping coming from out in the hall; storming towards the room. He gulped painfully, barely being able to swallow anything given just how dry and stale his throat was. He was going to die, Anti was going to kill him right here, right now. Tears were beginning to come back for the millionth time, his eyes stinging from how sore they had become. His time was up – he had had his chance to try and escape and he blew it. He and the others were all going to die today and there wasn’t a thing he could do. He truly was a dead man.

The poor man nearly jumped out of his skin and yelped when the door suddenly burst open violently with a bang; blinding white light flooding into the room for a brief moment as a figure stormed in. He knew who it was – he could tell given just how cold his blood had gone. Through the darkness, the green-haired man managed to make out the glitch pacing around the room, signature kitchen knife in his grasp, and he appeared to be angry – beyond furious, actually. Jack was already a broken man and couldn’t think clearly, but he honestly hadn’t the slightest idea what could’ve been causing the demon to be in such a horrible mood. The Irishman had seen him mad before and that had been truly terrifying, but this time…this time was so much different than the last.

Anti’s entire form was completely distorted, twitching and jerking in every which direction wildly. With each step he took, the ground at his feet would seem to pixelate and glitch spastically; the same went for any of the shadows surrounding his body. It was like parts of the void were breaking and struggling to stay intact like Anti was. The entity could not remain stable and in control of himself. Multiple projections of him came into view, all of which were incredibly demented and displaying manic behavior. They were all flickering by so fast Jack could barely make them all out, but a few caught his attention, in particular one dealing with the demon tugging his head back violently and slitting his already bleeding throat. He was cursing and growling repeatedly, his voice reaching a whole new level of unsettling intimidation. It was scratchy, deep, and completely laced with static. Anti had had his moments of sounding demonic and reminding Jack that he wasn’t human, but this did it in for the Irishman. Jack kept his eyes transfixed on the demon, not daring to say a word. Even if he wanted to, he didn’t think he could get anything out. He was paralyzed with fear, and at the moment, he was just waiting for his alter ego to come and finish him off once and for all.

“I DoN’t FUcKiNg BeLiEVe iT! THoSe FuCkERs cAn’T mAkE Up ThEiR DamN miNdS, CAn tHEy? CAN THEY?!”

The YouTuber cringed at hearing the unhinged creature. He watched as a patch of shadows morphed into pixels before materializing to reveal page after page of posts on the internet. He couldn’t fully make out what the posts were about – his vision was beginning to go in and out of focus due to how drained he was – but whatever it was, Anti did NOT like it.

“LOoK aT tHiS!” He scoffed, a smile flashing across his face briefly. “WhAt THe fUCk iS ThiS?!” A growl rumbled out from deep within him, a sinister laugh chasing after it. “Do THeY tHiNk THiS iS aLL sOMe SoRT oF JoKe? HoW fUCkiNg STuPiD aRe tHEy?! ArE tHeY brAiNDeAD?! WhAT, dO tHEy tHiNk tHEy cAn GeT riD Of ME, iS tHaT iT? THeY cAN’t GEt Rid Of mE! ThEy cAN nEVeR geT riD Of ME! I Am ETERNAL!” In a blurring motion, the unstable being drove his knife into the screen, causing it to momentarily glitch out and flicker; the darkness surrounding it also struggling to remain intact.

Jack jumped at the sudden action, a hitched breath getting pulled from his lips. Though Anti was standing still in front of the damaged screen that was now lined with cracks weaving out from where the blade was stuck, the Irishman could clearly tell he was tearing apart at the seams. His body was very much a blur given how intensely it was vibrating, jerking, and glitching out. That childish eerie giggle – the one that always instantly managed to drive fear into the Irishman – reverberated around the room, coming out more delighted than ever before.

“ThEy’Re MaKiNG a MOcKeRy Of ME! ThEY’rE tAkiNG mY WoRdS aNd MoRPhiNg ThEm iNTo OnE b-bi-i-iG J-JoKE!” His head seemed to lag for a moment, twitching to the right only to stutter and stop briefly before returning forward once again. He growled, clutching his head and tugging at his hair harshly. “ThAT dAmNEd NaME! ThAt FuCKiNg NaMe – I hAtE iT! I FUCKING HATE IT!” His body gave a fierce surge forward and he sent a fist flying into the screen, pixels cutting into his knuckles and damaging the screen further. It was barely even readable now; lines of static racing across it every few seconds.

Jack’s heart gave a painful pang in his chest. The community – he was talking about the community. Shifting his eyes to the broken screen, he squinted in an attempt to make out what was enraging the beast. From what he could tell, the posts were all in regards to a video Anti had uploaded, and it seemed the fandom had gone and taken bits and pieces of Anti’s rant and turned him into a joke. They were all mocking him. They weren’t afraid of him anymore, they weren’t taking him seriously, and at this realization, the green-haired man felt his stomach drop. If what they were doing was causing Anti to get this consumed by rage, there was no telling what the demon would do. He could snap at any given moment. The community had no idea who was truly in control here – who really held the power. Anti could easily wipe out all of the egos and Jack himself if he wanted to. With a snap of his fingers, they could all cease to exist.

Anti retracted his now bleeding hand from the screen, the torn skin materializing and piecing itself back together instantly. He began pacing the room again, strong vibrations from each step rippling through the room and causing the ground to tremble, only making Jack jump and curl in on himself. Even the cage he was locked in flickered for a brief moment.

“OnE mOMeNt tHEy WaNt mE, AnD tHe NeXT, thEy CLaiM tHeY dOn’T? WHicH iS iT?! Am I nOt gOoD ENoUgH fOr THeM?!” The violent entity screeched at the screen, arms flailing from left to right out of an ugly hybrid of annoyance and rage. And from where Jack was cowering in the corner, he could make out a hint of confusion as well. “ThEY mADe Me WhAt I aM! ThEy GaVe mE liFe, ThEy BrOuGhT mE iNTo tHiS GOdDamN FiLtHy WOrLd! ThEy LoVeD mE, tHeY WAnTeD mE tO Be A REaLitY, aND tHaT’s EXaCtLy WhAt tHEy gOt! I’m HeRe NoW, aNd THIS is HoW thEy TReAt mE?!”

His entire body flickered spastically, one second showing him yanking on his hair and screaming, another of him strangling himself horribly to the point his eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. The ground was quivering again, parts of the room cracking and materializing here and there. Jack’s eyes flew across the darkened hell, his breaths coming out as laboured gasps; heart racing with trepidation, afraid the void was going to somehow collapse in on itself. With Anti in control of Jack’s physical body, he also had full control over the void, and being how the entity was already an unstable mess, then the void would become the exact same way. If Anti couldn’t keep himself in control, there was no way of determining the fate of the void.

“I gAvE tHEm WhAt tHeY-eY w-wAnTeD!” The demon screamed, his head once again freezing up for a fleeting second. “THeY wAnTEd yOU gOnE aNd OuT Of tHe PiCtuRe,” Unexpectedly, his head gave an unnatural cringe-worthy jerk in Jack’s direction. His eyes were cloaked an inky black, staring furiously at his pathetic excuse of a host. The Irishman’s heart skipped a beat as he tensed up, holding his breath, “aNd I DiD eXActLy tHaT! I WaiTeD fOR mONthS oN enD, AloNe anD CoLd iN yoUr FuCkiNg EMptY sKuLL! I wAitEd, I gAvE thEm aLL a CHaNcE tO chAnGe tHeiR MinDS aND seT Me StRAigHt, aNd tHEy diD noTHinG!” The edges of his form rippled and jerked fiercely, a demented version of himself projecting forth; laughing manically, almost like he was finding the twisted humour in all of this. “I tHoUGhT thEY wAnTeD yoU loNg dEAd, aNd tURns oUt I mAy bE wrOnG? ThAT I’Ve beEn MAdE oUt tO bE a fOoL?!” One moment he was boring his eyes into Jack, the next his figure glitched out and he was glaring back at the screen. He flung his arms out at either side. “WHat Do YoU wAnT fRoM mE?!”

The green-haired man was almost tempted to open his mouth and question the demon about what was bothering him, but he froze up at what he saw and heard next.

Anti was standing still now – well, about as still as he could, anyway. His body was still very much glitching out and shaking all over, multiple versions of himself flashing before the Irishman’s eyes. He wasn’t lashing out anymore, but his inhuman eyes were fixed on the damaged screen, scanning through the posts that remained on display. He clenched his teeth, jaw locking up.

“You all made me like this – exactly how you envisioned me to be – aNd YoU’vE MaDe ME iNtO A jOkE!” He raised his left arm; hand balled up into a fist and ready to give the screen another blow…but it never came. He seemed to freeze up in position, his entire form lagging. His fist was trembling ever so slightly, and with a growl, he released it; dropping his hand at his side. He was glaring daggers at the endless cruel posts the community had made – all of which were poking fun at him. His shoulders were shaking horribly as he stared at the screen, not bating an eye.

“Your own creation…Your own son…” He hissed softly under his breath. His voice sounded a bit different now. It wasn’t nearly as loud, distorted, or monstrous, it was softer and almost sounded like he was hurt. He almost sounded human.

He shook his head in disbelief, a flicker of a smile flashing quickly across his face. “You’re all supposed to be my family, and yet…” A growl crawled out of his slashed throat, “and yet you treat me like I’m nothing…Do I mean so little to you all?” He read through each of the posts, his head giving a violent jerk to the right, trying hard to contain his growing hatred. “What am I to you? A joke? An ExPEriMeNt gOnE wROnG?!” He yelled, temporarily losing control and causing the ground to start shaking for a brief second.

Though he didn’t need to breathe, his breaths were coming out quick and a tad unsteady. He inhaled deeply, attempting to relax. If looks could kill, Anti’s would be the most deadly. The expression upon his face read pure unadulterated hatred…but it wasn’t just that. There was something else there, but Jack was having difficulty making out what it was. The demon trembled, hands balling up into fists at his sides.

“I gave all of you what you wanted…I was being a good boy…I thought you’d all be proud of me, I thought you’d all love me for what I did…but…” He was visibly quivering, biting down on his lip sharply. Why, Jack didn’t know. His vision was becoming blurry due to how lightheaded he currently was. He squinted, leaning forward a bit to try and make out Anti’s expression, “you don’t….And you never will, I see that now.”

Were…Were those tears coming to his eyes? Jack’s eyes widened at the sight. He couldn’t believe it. The glitching entity was actually in pain, and it was showing through both his words and the expression upon his face. The demon only ever wanted to be loved, Jack realized. He only ever wanted to be seen as an equal like all of the other egos, and no matter how many times he tried to get the community’s attention, they always shot him down. Yes, they would make so much fan art, fanfiction, theories, and posts involving him and it would give him a whole lot of power, but through the glitch’s eyes, whenever he was about to show his true self to them all, they saw him as an annoyance – a bother – and they wanted him gone as soon as he’d show up. It was almost like they liked him better as an idea versus an actual existing being. He was always having to act like someone he wasn’t – he was always having to pretend to be Jack and convince them all that the Irishman wasn’t gone. And they were happy. But God forbid if he himself showed his true face. As soon as he’d do that, everyone would freak out for a few moments before automatically demanding to have Jack return. They would never accept him for who he was, and it broke the creature’s black heart.

“You’re never going to view me as your son. You’ve all blinded yourselves from that truth, and instead you’ve chosen to see me as nothing more than a monster – something you want to put to the test over…and over…and over again.” He spat with distaste, his body shaking violently as a lone tear raced down his cheek. He shook his head slowly, glitching out momentarily to show a version of himself laughing like a lunatic. “You don’t care about any of us…You just want to see chaos. So who’s the REAL fucked up monster here?” He growled, digging his nails deep into his palms. “I HATE you.” He seethed venomously, the space around him rippling and zig-zagging fiercely.

Jack watched him through the bars of the glacial cell, taking in just how emotionally hurt the apparition truly was. He felt a bit empathetic towards the creature, almost wanting to comfort him somehow, even after everything he had done to him. But all of this was the least of the Irishman’s concerns. Licking his dry chapped lips, he forced himself to finally speak and make himself known.

“W-What did you do?” His voice – it was far worse than it had been before. It was so gravelly and rough; it wasn’t a surprise when he coughed harshly into his hand only to see spots of blood in his palm.

Visibly tensing up, the unhinged abomination turned his head to direct his attention onto his prisoner; the heartache and suffering immediately dissipating from his onyx eyes. He was staring directly at Jack like he had just realized that he had been in the room all this time. With trembling lips and feeling tears starting to come to his eyes out of worry, the Irishman continued.

“W-What did you do to Henrik?” His voice was so brutally scratched up; his question came out as a faint whisper, dread hanging off of each individual word.

At hearing this, a grin stretched across the demon’s face and he unexpectedly threw his head back with a gross crack emitting from his neck; an insidious spine-chilling laugh bubbling out him. It made the YouTuber flinch and hug himself tightly. He wasn’t expecting the creature to go from being so furious, to pained, and then to sudden cruel delight so quickly. It’s like a switch went off in the being – one minute getting taken over by hatred and sorrow, the next slipping right into his usual unsettlingly happy self. And that’s what worried Jack more than anything. Anti cocked his head, eyeing the Irishman with a cheeky smile.

“THAT’S what’s bothering you so much? You’re more concerned for that feeble-minded impersonator who has the audacity to call himself a doctor than you are for your own self?” His head twitched furiously, his form glitching out as another demonic laugh raced out of his vocal cords. “Have you completely forgotten what time it is, Jackaboy?” He instantly went for his knife, which was still embedded into the cracked static-laced screen, and grasped it; yanking it out with a glitch of his body. “In fact, I should be cutting you open right now.” And without another thought, he was storming towards the cage; knife getting strangled in his grasp and an eerie jack o’ lantern-like grin plastered on his sickly pale face.

Breathing hitching out of panic, the cowering Irishman curled up into a ball, pressing his back into the brick wall behind him. Tears were threatening to tip over the edge and cascade down his face as he stared at the horrifying entity charging towards him. He shook his head vigorously.

“N-No. No, no, no, no, please. P-Please!” He whimpered, lips trembling as he struggled to both speak and hold back his tears. “P-Please, no! Anti…A-Anti, don’t! Please!”

The man yelped and jumped with a start when the glitch materialized into the cell with him, immediately surging forth, grabbing the Irishman by the hair, and pulling him to his feet. He slammed him violently into the wall, blinding white pain throbbing through the back of Jack’s head and triggering him to cough up a small mouthful of blood. He spluttered as Anti wrapped his dead-cold fingers around his neck, hauling him off of the ground and keeping him pinned to the wall; his grip tight enough to start making the green-haired man see stars. Jack choked, raising his shaky cut-up hands to his throat in a poor attempt to try and get the demon to release his hold on him.

“A-An…A-An-ti…” He croaked, his eyes rolling back in his head for a moment as he struggled to breathe.

Anti ignored him, a large toothy smile reaching ear to ear as he watched the man squirm. He chuckled low in his throat as the hand holding the knife shot up, first pointing it at the YouTuber’s face threateningly before lowering it downward, hovering right over Jack’s chest.

“I should be killing you right now. I’ve waited long enough for this – I even told you I’d butcher you once it reached 4 o’clock,” He let out a sadistic giggle, “and I never break my promises, Jackie.” He focused his eyes onto him, the smile faltering as his voice dropped an octave. “Never.”

Jack was a horrible trembling mess, a few loose tears running astray, no longer being able to hold in his fear. He hacked and dry heaved, a few spots of blood spewing from his mouth as he weakly clawed at Anti’s hand.

“P…P-Ple..P-Please…A-An-ti…” He tried to shake his head. “Y-You…d-don’t…have to…d-do th-this.”

The demon only laughed at his words, finding amusement in them. He raised his brows at the notion.

“Oh really? I don’t, do I? Oh Jackaboy, how wrong you are.” He clenched his fingers, tightening his grip around the man’s throat. The green-haired man let out a choked gasp, the edges of his vision flashing red. “I have to do this. Don’t you see? Don’t you see what your ‘loving community’ has done? DoN’t YoU?!” He screeched, the shadows surrounding them both seeming to vibrate and become pixelated for a fleeting moment. “They made me like this. For so long, I tried to get them to love me – I tried SO hard to get their attention and make them proud – but do you think they noticed? Do you THINK they acknowledged me the way I had hoped they would?” His head spastically twitched from left to right as he cackled evilly. “They threw me aside like garbage, seeing me as a one-time thing! They don’t care! They’ve never cared! Not about you, not about those other useless fuckers, and not even about me – their own creation, ThEiR OwN SoN!” He snarled, slowly pressing the tip of the blade into Jack’s chest. The YouTuber sucked in a pained breath, trying to push himself away from the knife.

Jack whimpered and choked, tears cascading over his cheeks as he closed his eyes, fear finally consuming him fully. This was it. There was no way of reasoning with Anti now. He had to accept it – this was how he was going to die. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut; bracing himself for the stabbing pain that would burst through his chest…but strangely, it never came. He waited and waited, but there wasn’t anything. Hesitantly, the Irishman reopened his eyes to the sound of the entity chuckling, retracting his knife and lowering his prisoner to the ground. The demon’s dark eyes were transfixed on him, not blinking.

“But I can’t…I won’t. Not now. I know I said I’d kill you right now, but I’m going to put it off awhile longer.” The terrible, awful grin he’d had on his face a few minutes ago returned much more devious than before. “Those twisted fuckers clearly want a show – they want chaos – and if that’s what they want, I can easily make it happen. They want a monster,” His eyes flashed a piercing neon green. “then that’s what they’ll get. No more Mr. Nice Guy. I’m done trying to get them to love me.”

Jack tried to pry his hand off of his throat, eyes shining with desperation. “A-Anti, please, you d-don’t –.”

“It’S ToO LaTE!” The glitchy demon shouted, his body glitching out to show him clawing at his bleeding eyes. “They had their chance! Time and time again, I gave them a chance to redeem themselves, and they FuCkEd Up! I’M dOnE wiTh iT aLL! FoRgiVeNesS anD LoVE aRe nO lOnGEr oN tHe taBLe!” What started off as a high-pitched giggle ringing throughout the darkness got dragged out into a deep demonic laugh that sent chills up the Irishman’s spine. “I will expose them for the villains they really are, you’ll see. You’ll all see! You’ll all perish,” He smirked, “and they’ll only have themselves to blame.” With that, he finally released Jack, allowing the man to collapse to his knees and cough violently, spots of blood flying onto the ground.

Anti leered down at him, seething through his teeth. “They think they have a hold on me, that they’re the ones who pull the strings. They think I’m their puppet, that they can control me! Well no more! I told them all that there are no strings on me.” He slowly lifted a hand, his eyes shifting to it. He stared at his fingers, flexing them and feeling the psychic link he had to Jack’s physical body. He watched the tendons in his wrist move, a shaken breath leaving him. “It’s time to visit the good doctor once again.”

Jack struggled to sit up straight, but his ears perked up at hearing him mention the doctor. He jerked his head up in time to see Anti glitch out of the cage, heading directly for the exit.

“W-Wait…W-Wait, no! Please! A-Anti!” He scrambled to his feet, racing for the end of the cage. “Anti! Don’t! P-Please don’t! D-Don’t do this!” He cried out.

But the demon didn’t listen; he left the room and immediately stormed down the hall towards the doctor’s quarters.

“ANTI!”

* * * * *

Barging into the operating room, Anti startled the poor doctor horribly. Henrik, like Jack, was now chained in the room. Granted, only one of his ankles was shackled, but he was unable to leave the operating room; he was bound there like a helpless dog. Before the demon had come storming in, Schneeple had been sitting at a desk with his head down, crying out of fear for his life as well as the others. He hadn’t the slightest idea where Jack was or what Anti had done to him. For all he knew, the man was dead. He sprang out of his chair and stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his chain at the unannounced appearance of the glitching creature. As a reflex, he raised his arms up to cover his face, bracing himself for any act of violence that would come his way.

“P-Please. Please, don’t! I-I didn’t do anyzhing, I svear!”

“Shut up!” The demon snapped. “Where are those x-rays you took of me?” He demanded as he began to search the room, shoving things out of his way.

The German lowered his arms just enough to take a glance at the entity. “V-Vhat?”

“The x-rays, you idiot! The ones you took of my chest – where are they?!” And right as he said this, he caught sight of the x-ray illuminator off in the far corner.

The sheets were still up on display. Without a word, Anti headed over to the illuminator, bringing it to life with a jolt of his own energy. His eyes scanned over the images, looking for something in specific. Henrik dropped his arms, casting his attention over at the demon. He blinked with confusion.

“I-I don’t understand. V-Vhy do you care about zhose?” He inquired.

Anti ignored him, yanking one of the sheets off of the illuminator and materializing out of existence before very suddenly showing up right in front of the doctor. Henrik yelped and jumped back, once more lifting his hands out of defense. Anti shoved the x-ray into his hands and the quivering doctor, after taking a breather, took a long look at the image. Upon seeing the brows of the man weave together out of question, the glitching entity told him what he expected him to do. Almost immediately, the German’s eyes widened in horror and all of the blood drained from his face. He didn’t at all hesitate to move away from the creature, throwing the x-ray at him as he shook his head madly.

“N-No…No, no, no, NO! You cannot be serious. You cannot make me do zhat – I von’t!” He exclaimed, a few shaky breaths leaving him.

“Oh but you will. You WILL do it.” Anti ordered, taking one slow step after another towards the doctor. “You’re a doctor after all, aren’t you? Who better to do the procedure than you yourself?” He chuckled darkly, his head twitching to the left fiercely.

Schneeple shook his head again. “N-No…N-No, you d-don’t understand. Zee precautions I’d have to take – .” He stopped to try and even out his breathing. It wasn’t working out like he’d hoped. “I-I’ve never – I’ve never done such an operation on someone before, let alone somezhing inhuman.” He kept backing up, eyes never leaving the monster that was following him. “Y-Your anatomy, I-I don’t know how different it is. I-If you go zhrough vith z-zhis, I can’t – I can’t guarantee it’ll vork.” He bumped into something, taking a quick glance behind him to see he had run into a countertop. He turned back to the demon to realize he was trapped. He gulped and shrunk down, eyes blown wide. “Z-Zhere’s no telling v-vhat vould happen. Y-You could die!”

Anti only chuckled in amusement at the doctor’s stuttering words. He cocked his head to the right, leering down at the horrified man.

“And that’s when you need to remind yourself, Doctor.” His eyes flicked an abyssal black, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m not human. I can’t die. Look at me.” He pointed to his deeply slit throat. “Don’t you think that would’ve killed me already if I was human?” He lowered his hand, eyes returning back to the sickening green they were. “Think of it this way, Doctor, think of it as a revolutionary discovery. You’ll be operating on an inhuman creature with abnormal anatomy – something that has never been seen before. You’ll be the first ever doctor in existence to make such a discovery.” He grinned, trying to win the doctor over into going through with what he wanted. “You WILL perform the operation on me. You WILL do as I say.” He hissed. “And if you don’t,” A wicked cruel smirk played at his lips, “maybe I’ll go after your precious wife and kids. I’ll slit their throats open just like I did with my own.” He hummed with thought. “I think I’ll start with the kids first.”

“NO!” Henrik pleaded, tears coming to his eyes out of fear for his family. They may have left him and had little to no respect for him remaining, but that didn’t mean he himself didn’t care about them anymore. He loved them with all of his heart, and if anything were to happen to them…

He cringed, staring up at the glitching monster with horror, looking like a kicked puppy. “Please! Please, don’t hurt zhem!”

A sinister growl came out of the demon’s slashed throat as his head twitched violently. “If you care for what’s left of your pathetic family, then you WILL perform the operation. Refuse and I WILL disembowel your whore of a wife and those stupid brats before you even have the chance to change your damn mind.” He promised.

Fearing for his family and believing every word that slithered out of the abomination’s static-laced mouth, Schneeple reluctantly nodded his head, a few lone tears escaping his eyes. He sniffled.

“Al-Alright..Al-Alright, I’ll do it! I’ll do it. P-Please, just…” He sobbed, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold himself back from crying. “Please just d-don’t hurt my f-family…P-Please. I-I’ll do v-vhat you say, I svear.” He looked up at him, vision blurred from the fear clouding his eyes.

At hearing this, an insidious grin flashed across the demon’s face before he whirled around and stormed over to the operating table. “Good. Now let’s get this over with.”

Henrik stood up straight, wiping away the tears from his eyes. He blinked in surprise. “V-Vait, vait! You – You vant to do it now?!” He asked in alarm.

Anti was already pulled off his shirt, chucking it off somewhere as he took a glimpse at the trembling doctor. He looked a tad bit agitated at the stupid question.

“Yes, I want to do it now! Why would I want to put this off for some other time? Now get over here, you fucking coward!” He snapped harshly, his body glitching out for a moment.

Gathering what little courage he had, Henrik nodded slowly before rushing to get his surgical smock, cap, and mask. He hurriedly slipped on everything, nearly tripping over his feet in the process. He walked over to where Anti was now laying down on his stomach on the operating table, putting on his glasses and snapping on a pair of vinyl gloves. He was about to start hooking him up to his monitors when he distinctly remembered how the creature didn’t have a heartbeat, let alone have a need to breathe to survive. Henrik forgot about that instantly and went to grab the anesthesia mask, ready to knock the demon out, when Anti suddenly lashed out and gripped his arm, stopping him. The abomination jerked his head, taking a look at the doctor.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Henrik blinked, swallowing hard before replying. “Y-You need anesthesia.”

The monster shook his head. “No I don’t.”

“But – But zee pain – .”

“I can handle it.” Anti insisted. “Besides, I don’t trust you. One wrong move, Doctor, and your family is as good as dead.” He let the doctor go before resting his head again. “Now get on with it.”

Looking worried beyond ever, Schneeple stared down at the demon uncertainly. “I-I don’t know about zhis.”

Anti’s demonic eyes locked onto the nervous doctor. “CuT mE oPEn, DaMn IT!” He seethed through his teeth, his body glitching out spastically; a twisted psychotic laugh ringing out of his vocal cords.

Gasping at the sudden outburst, the doctor nodded rapidly and pulled his stainless steel table over so it was right at his side; all of the necessary instruments already laid out, ready to use. Before continuing, Schneeple went over to the nearby counter and rummaged around until he came across a bottle – diethyl ether. He made out the amused distorted chuckle coming from his patient behind him as he grabbed the bottle, opened it, pulled down his mask, and took a good swig of the drug.

“Pathetic. The surgery hasn’t even commenced and the ‘good doctah’ is resorting to intoxication already.” He giggled with delight, as though it were some absurd joke.

Pulling the bottle away from his lips, the doctor staggered over to the operated table, setting the bottle down on the nearby table. He blinked, feeling the drug slowly but surely beginning to kick in. He readjusted his mask over his face, grabbing the overhead light and getting it into the right position.

“F-For vhat I’m about to do,” His breathing was coming out heavy and uneven. He scoffed nervously, “drugs are zee only zhing zhat’ll keep me sane.”

Without another word, Henrik proceeded with the operation. He stared down at the creature’s back, feeling along it to first indicate where he’d make the incision. His heart jolted when he felt faint movement under his fingertips, like something was squirming – throbbing – right beneath the surface of the entity’s skin. Swallowing hard, the good doctor reached for his scalpel. He knew that with an operation such as this, an electrocautery pen would normally be used to limit the blood flow, but he had no time to find that damned instrument. Besides, Anti wasn’t human – who knew how his biology functioned? Gently touching the entity’s back, before making the incision, Henrik eyed the demon’s head.

“Please…t-try to remain in control of yourself.” He begged. “One wrong slip and who knows vhat’ll happen.”

Anti only gave a soft growl in reply, taking a deep breath to try and stabilize his glitching form. Carefully, the doctor pressed the blade into the flesh of the demon, and slowly dragged it all along the length of his back, from the base of his spine up to where the cervical spine was located. A hiss was heard coming from the entity, but he surprisingly managed to stay still. Small lines of blood trailed out of the long cut, weaving down over the monster’s pale body and onto the table. If this had been any ordinary human being he was operating on, Schneeple would’ve most certainly been worrying right now. But seeing as Anti wasn’t human, he carried on with the procedure. Setting the scalpel aside and exchanging it for two sets of self-restraining retractors, the doctor proceeded to pull open the incision; slowly peeling back the skin and muscle of the demon’s back. Almost immediately, Anti tensed up all over, a growl rumbling out of him as he gripped the edges of the table tightly. He couldn’t hide it, he felt the pain, and it was excruciating, far worse than when he had slit his throat open. And although he was in great pain, he did not stop the doctor – he did not dare ask for anesthesia. He was going to go through with the agony, he WANTED to. Those heartless traitors he once thought were his family had created him, they had given him life, and they made him the way he was. They had been in control for so long, they could shape him any which way they wanted…but after this…no more.

Never again.

As Henrik pulled open the back of the demon, much blood began to gush out; washing over the pale flesh and flooding the table, some even managed to drip down onto the tiled floor at the doctor’s feet. He cursed repeatedly under his breath, a shaky breath leaving him at the amount of blood leaving the entity. It only seemed a lot worse when he noticed what looked like some sort of black slime-like substance leaking out along with the crimson. He gagged, turning his head away for a brief moment to collect himself. Anti had been right – he was going to see the abnormal insides of an inhuman creature, and he honestly didn’t know if he was going to be able to handle it. A soft chuckle came from the entity, knowing fully well how the doctor was reacting. Taking a small break, Henrik stopped and tugged down his mask to take a large gulp of the ether, needing the drug to kick in a bit faster. Slamming down the bottle, he adjusted his mask and returned to the operation, blinking a few times over since his vision was blurring in and out of focus thanks to the drug.

Using the retractors, he peeled back the flabs of flesh and muscle until the creature’s spine was exposed to him. The insides of the abomination were certainly nothing the doctor had seen before – everything was tinted green and black, lines of black weaving out in every which direction; pulsing with evil. There were small black spots all over the muscles, giving them the sickly appearance of being horrifically infected. His breathing beginning to pick up out of just how disturbed he was getting, the doctor grabbed for his Cobb elevator and surgical sponge and dug in deep, carefully pushing any muscle away from the entity’s bones to allow himself a better visualization. He nearly screamed when the muscular walls seemed to throb, only to then come upon what looked like wires and circuits deep down and lining the creature’s spine. Anti suddenly released a scream at feeling his muscles get pulled and stretched, his entire body glitching out spastically for a moment; the overhead light flickering as a result. The doctor jumped back in alarm, cursing in German as he stared in horror at the insides of the monster. Tears were beginning to come to the man’s eyes, both red and black substances coating his hands and staining his smock. The poor doctor was visibly trembling now, shaking his head.

“I-I can’t…I-I can’t do zhis…” A tear ran down his face. “Z-Zhis…Z-Zhis is so wrong – operating on a v-very much c-conscious inhuman…c-creature. I-I can’t.”

Anti suddenly whipped his head around, glaring daggers at the doctor. “YoU WiLL! NeEd I rEmiNd yOu oF yOUr dArLiNg family?” He spat harshly.

The reminder of his family’s lives on the line made Henrik’s poor heart constrict painfully, causing him to nearly keel over, gripping his chest tightly. Another tear fell from one of his eyes, his hands shaking as he nodded and stepped forth to continue with the surgery. He didn’t want to do any of this, he knew it was all so wrong and disturbing beyond words, but if it meant keeping his family alive and safe, he had to do it. He would do anything the demon would ask of him.

“I-I’m so sorry...p-please forgive me.” He muttered under his breath, hoping like hell his wife and kids wouldn’t ever find out about what he was currently doing. If they ever found out, he would truly lose them forever.

With the manifestation’s abnormal muscles pushed to the side to reveal the spine, Henrik let out an unsteady breath, eyes widening at what he was looking down at. All along the creature’s spine was what seemed like a giant throbbing root-like organ; coiled up securely around the entire length of the spine. It was an inky black, thin lines of moss green weaved out all along it; glowing brightly with each pulse. It was like the thing had a life of its own – like it was breathing – leeching onto Anti’s spine. There were both thick and thin black veins protruding from the organ, branching out in ever which direction; linking up to the creature’s organs, nerves, veins, and any of the wires and circuits that were intact. Inky ooze smothered the entirety of the organ, and when the doctor went to prod at it with a finger, he could’ve sworn he felt something slither underneath the tissue. His eyes scanned up and down the thing with equal parts horror and fascination.

“V-Vhat…V-Vhat is zhis?” He questioned, fear very much evident in his voice. He was greatly disturbed at what he was seeing. He hadn’t the slightest idea what it was, but whatever it was, Anti wanted it removed NOW.

“Tear it out.” The demon snarled, tensing up and bracing himself for the oncoming pain. “Go oN! RiP it OuT! RiP IT oUt NoW!”

Quickly downing a few gulps of ether and feeling woozy all of sudden, Dr. Schneeplestein steadied himself out against the table; bile rising in his throat as he watched the root-like organ throb, something squirming beneath the surface. Feeling beads of sweat coming to his forehead, the doctor reached over to the table with a trembling hand and grabbed a few nerve hooks; positioning them inside and very carefully maneuvering the entity’s nerves out of the way. Another hiss came from the glitchy manifestation, his grip tightening further on the bloody table he lay upon. As soon as Henrik was sure there weren’t any nerves in the way, he reached for a pair of forceps and his scalpel. His eyes drifted back to the demon’s head, his heart rate increasing to the point all he could hear was his blood rushing through his ears. He let out an unsteady breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in for the last few minutes.

“A-Are you sure about zhis?” He returned his gaze to the throbbing organ, noticing just how complex it was and how it was strategically wired up to anything and everything in the creature’s body. “Zee structure, it’s…i-it’s very complex...If I accidentally sever somezhing or…or you move…”

“JuSt dO iT! GeT it OuT of Me!” It almost sounded like there was trepidation in his voice, like he was afraid of what would happen. And yet, he still did not stop the doctor’s actions. The part of him that made him the community’s creation was lodged deep into his back – it’s how they managed to pull the strings on him. It was the source of how he was the way he was. And here he was, going through drastic measures to have it removed. The community had done this to him; they had driven him over the edge for the last time. And the sooner the strings were cut – the sooner this retched thing was taken out of him – the better.

Not daring to argue with the demon, Henrik proceeded to start cutting into the organ that was coiled around the creature’s spine. Using his scalpel, he carefully began to sever away at each individual vein that sprouted from the organ that was latched onto the rest of Anti’s inner anatomy. Blood and black sludge spewed out, flying into the doctor’s face; causing him to gasp and nearly choke on his own saliva. He sliced away at the veins, plucking at them like the strings on a harp; having them snap one by one. And with each cut, the demon released countless growls and whimpers of agony; his deathly pale fingers clinging to the table for dear life. He was struggling so hard to keep his form from glitching out; there was no way of ignoring the pain no matter how hard he tried. He was drowning in it.

Once all of the cords had been severed, it was time to take out the root of evil – the leech. Using his forceps, the doctor took hold of one end of the organ and slowly began to pull it back, using his scalpel to carefully detach the thing from the vertebra. Almost immediately, Anti arched forward and suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream, one of which sounded incredibly inhuman. It was distorted and had a bit of a roar to it, and yet agony was evident in it. Normally, anyone would think a scream from Anti would sound enraged or frustrated, but not this one. This one genuinely made him sound like he was in excruciating pain.

As the doctor continued to tug and pull on the parasite latched onto the demon’s spine, scream after horrific scream left the entity’s lips; his grip so tight on the table that he was actually causing enough pressure to bend the edges. Henrik almost felt sorry for the creature – he couldn’t even begin to imagine the amount of pain Anti was experiencing at that moment. He was a tad bit tempted to stop and pump him full of anesthesia just to put an end to the screams and agony, but he knew if he tried – if he made one move – it would be game over for his family, and he wasn’t willing to take the risk.

“I-I’m so sorry…” Tears flooded the doctor’s eyes, a horrendous abomination of disturbance, horror, nausea, regret, and guilt swimming in his gut. He felt sick, genuinely beginning to give the appearance of a corpse. His face was as white as a sheet, and he looked like he was going to faint at any second. “I-I’m so so sorry…”

Anti could barely even hear the man’s words over his pained screams. He had his face pressed down hard into the operating table, eyes squeezed tightly shut and teeth clenched together, desperately attempting to hold in his shrieks. But the poor thing, he couldn’t hide the agony he was experiencing. Anti had always been a creature to withstand any sort of pain. Hell, he’d almost find some sort of sickening amusement out of it. He could cut himself open, get shot at, and even dismember a limb if he really wanted to. And none of it would bother him – he would laugh with a twisted sense of humour. Sure, he’d feel the pain, but it was more ticklish to him than it was agonizing. If he were human, it would most certainly be the exact opposite.

But fuck, what he was going through at that very moment was the most excruciating, most horrifying thing he had ever gone through in his entire existence.

This leech was an actual physical part of his body, it was his very core and he was having it cut out of his body. All connections to the community were going to get stripped away, completely gone forever. This thing – it was NEVER going to regrow. He was never going to be a puppet again, a mockery to those callous deceivers he had once believed to be his family.

They weren’t his family…they never had been. The community had only ever seen him as their creation, never their son, and it took him this long to finally realize that.

Family didn’t do this. Family didn’t drive their loved one into having their body mutilated. Family didn’t stand by and not give a fuck about their own son.

If they had truly loved him, none of this would be happening.

If they had truly loved him, they wouldn’t have hurt him so much to the point of breaking him apart.

Pain wasn’t just strictly radiating throughout his back now. His heart was constricting tightly in his chest, a cancerous growth of shame and hurt swelling up deep inside. He may have not required the need to breathe, and yet, he felt like he was suffocating – like there wasn’t any air in the room whatsoever. His nails dug into the steel table, his limbs trembling from the struggle of holding back his pain. Loud whimpers of a wounded animal rose out of his slashed throat as he felt his eyes beginning to water.

They had done this to him. He knew that this is exactly what they would’ve wanted. After all, he had failed them. He hadn’t given them what they wanted, he hadn’t pleased them. He was becoming a nuisance, a bore, a thorn in their sides. He wasn’t their son, he was a monster who deserved to be punished. He deserved this pain and suffering.

He winced and suddenly jolted, snapping his back forward and letting out an ear-piercing scream at feeling the root getting slowly ripped from his spine. The tendons were stretching in a way they shouldn’t have been able to, tearing apart and coming undone in black, bloody ribbons. A few lone tears finally escaped his eyes, running down his cheeks and onto the table as he screamed.

“I’M – I’M S-SOrRy!”

He cried out in anguish, clawing at the edges of the table as his mind tortured him with visions of the community.

All he could think about was how much of a failure he was, how he was a mistake. Was that what he was – a mistake? Had he never been planned? Is that why they hated him so much? Is that why they were making him do this? He wasn’t the “perfect, beautiful creation” they had wanted him to be, he was just an abomination, an experiment gone wrong and thrown aside. What had he done wrong? WHAT HAD HE DONE WRONG?!

A few more tendons got stripped away from his spine, black sludge spewing out onto the doctor who was mutilating the glitch’s back. He arched as another pained scream was ripped from his lungs, his entire body glitching and jerking out spastically. A few versions of himself flickered by in seconds flat, none of which were happy, giggly, or enraged. Every single one was of him crying and hugging himself tightly, looking like a terrified child who was desperately longing for comfort from their mommy and daddy.

“P-PLeAsE! I-I’M SoRRy!” He wailed, choking on his sobs as he endured the blinding-hot torture. His head twitched violently from side to side as he struggled to remain somewhat stable. Tear after tear left his cold soulless eyes, weaving lines of distress on his pale face. His being shook all over, raking his nails along the underside of the table. “MaKE It – It SToP!”

Poor Schneeple – he couldn’t handle hearing the glitching entity’s screams of gut-wrenching agony. He felt like he was butchering a weak, defenseless animal. This was taking a toll on him in the most horrendous way possible. It wasn’t just seeing Anti’s abnormal inner anatomy that was deeply disturbing him. It wasn’t the fact that he was currently removing some disgusting, leech-like parasite from the glitch’s spine that was sending him over the edge.

No, it was the fact that he was operating on a very much conscious patient, and though that patient was inhuman and could withstand pain, it was evident that the agony the creature was going through was genuine and not an act. Those screams, those tears, those pleas to put an end to the agony – none of it was fake. And it was absolutely killing the doctor.

What would his wife think if she knew what he was doing right then and there? Not only was he helping a devious being into getting what he wanted, he was performing surgery on a conscious individual who was writhing in unbearable pain. Oh God, if his wife knew about this…

Henrik felt a few tears run astray down his face as he momentarily stopped what he was doing to reach for his bottle of ether, his hand unsteady and covered in blood and inky residue. He yanked on his mask and gulped down the drug, inhaling and exhaling sharply as he downed more than half of the bottle. He didn’t give a fuck anymore; he honestly could care less how he was making a desperate attempt to fully intoxicate himself. He couldn’t bear with this horror; it was scarring him deeper than anything. As the last few drops of ether slid down his throat, he threw the empty bottle somewhere over his shoulder; a few ragged breaths expelling from his lips. His eyes were scanning over the butchered mess that was his patient lying in front of him. He raised a trembling hand to his mouth, not seeming to care how blood and sludge were now getting smeared over his face.

“S-Shite.” He stuttered under his breath, his stomach churning and nausea circling around in his head; tempting him to hurl right then and there. But he couldn’t stop now. He wanted to – God knows how he wanted to drop everything and run – but he couldn’t. Even if he did, where would he go? He was chained to the floor; there was absolutely no way of him getting free from that shackle. And if he didn’t continue with the procedure, his family would surely be next on the slab.

His vision was swimming now and he was having a bit of difficulty focusing. Clearly the drug was kicking in. His nerves felt like they were on fire, and though he was swaying slightly and feeling weak-kneed, his body was still trembling from the terror. Henrik lazily readjusted his mask before leaning against the table, poorly trying to keep himself upright. He grasped his forceps and scalpel and returned to the nightmare-inducing task, not missing the wheezing whimpers coming from the man upon the table.

Anti lurched and spastically thrashed around for a brief moment, belting out a shrill scream laced with nothing but agony. He tried to hide his face, not wanting the doctor to see how truly wounded he was, inside and out. He was a trembling, crying mess, begging for the pain to end already.

“P-PLeASe! M-MaKE It S-StOp!” He pleaded, not to Schneeple but to the community – his supposed “family”. He whimpered, sobbing and hissing through his teeth as more tendons were peeled away from his spine. His shoulders shook from the force of his crying.

“P-PLEaSe! I-I’LL bE A gOoD BOy! I-I’LL bE A gOoD BOy! I S-SwEAr – FuUuUuCk!” He arched, letting out another scream as he gripped onto the table as though his life depended on it.

Henrik breathed heavily and shakily, constantly cursing under his breath as he worked. Blood and inky sludge was gushing all over his hands, running down in gross sticky strings and globs as he tugged and pulled at the pulsing organ. He struggled to see clearly, what with the tears blurring his vision as well as the effects of the drug fogging up his brain.

“I-I’m s-sorry…” He whispered. “I-I’m d-doing…z-zee best I can.” He was saying this more to himself than he was to the crying, unstable manifestation. He shook his head sluggishly, head heavy from the ether.

“G-Good God, p-please…p-please forgive me.” He sobbed softly, a lone tear trailing down one of his cheeks. “I-I’m n-not…n-not a bad person, I s-svear. I…I j-just…” His lips were trembling under his mask, trying hard to keep himself from bawling his eyes out right then and there. “I-I just v-vant my family t-to be safe.”

Butchering away at the organ and extracting it from the spine, Anti’s form was struggling to stay stable. Every few seconds, he glitched out violently; different versions of himself flashing at a blurring speed. At one point, Henrik’s grip on the scalpel nearly slipped and he had almost thought he had cut a major artery or organ. Luckily he hadn’t. The thing was squirming as he pulled, a gross nauseating squishing sound emitting from the organ as a spray of black ooze splattered onto the doctor’s smock. The leech was hanging on only by a few strong tendons, keeping it firmly attached to the vertebra. The light above him flickered spastically like a strobe light, a few of the other lights in the room bursting unexpectedly. The screens on his nearby monitors were acting out, turning on and off suddenly; getting corrupted by static and pixels. Henrik’s breathing hitched when the demon let out a horrifying scream of pain. He knew all of the supernatural occurrences were because of him – he knew given the last two times he had operated on him, the exact same things had happened. Feeling tears running down his cheeks and his vision beginning to fade in and out, Schneeple severed the organ from the spine; finally extracting it from the demon’s body and tossing it onto a nearby slab. He watched as the green luminescent veins in the organ gradually died down, as did the throbbing of the organ until it was completely lifeless; lying dead and unmoving on the table.

Panting shakily and feeling beads of perspiration on his forehead running down his temples, the good doctor stumbled backward, struggling to catch his breath. He was covered with blood and sticky black sludge, as was the operating table Anti lay upon. With his hands trembling, Henrik dropped his tools and tore his mask off, a few tears falling from his face at the horror he had just endured. He leaned against a nearby table and sobbed.

“Z-Zhere…Z-Zhere…I-I did…I did v-vhat you vanted…” He cried, stared at his gore-soaked hands. “I d-did it.”

For some time, the demon didn’t respond. He let out a few uneven breaths, but he didn’t reply to the doctor. Instantaneously, the glitching creature’s back closed up in seconds flat; his brutalized flesh and muscle materializing and piecing itself back together without the use of any medical treatment. His eyes flung open, blacker than black as he felt a surge of energy course throughout his body. A low growl came from deep within the bowels of his form, and in a blurring motion, he was off the table and looming over the broken doctor. And before Henrik could react fast enough, everything went black.

* * * * *

Slowly but surely coming to, Henrik’s eyes fluttered open to a blinding white light directly over him. He squinted and winced, moving to lift a hand to shield his eyes, only to realize he could barely move at all. Brows furrowing out of confusion and head throbbing from whatever had knocked him out, the doctor struggled to focus on anything around him.

“V…Vhat is…Vhat is going on?” He asked, slurring his words.

He managed to make out a petite bone-chilling giggle come from somewhere off to his left.

“Ah, zee good doctah is vaking up. Good, good.” He heard the entity speak in a distorted voice, mocking the doctor’s German accent.

Blinking groggily and shaking his head gently in an attempt to focus properly, Henrik turned his head to see Anti standing over him, who was now donning his own surgical attire, complete with cap and mask as well. Only becoming further confused, Schneeple made a move to try and sit up, but found that he wasn’t able to. He tugged at his wrists and ankles and with a pang of dread, the compromising situation he was in finally dawned over him. Glancing downward as his breathing increased, he saw how he was bound to the blood-soaked operating table that Anti had been laying on not too long ago. He jerked and yanked as hard as he could, having a sliver of hope that maybe the bonds would come lose, but they didn’t budge, not one bit. He heard Anti chuckle sadistically, which immediately caused him to jerk his head in his direction and look up at the creature with eyes wide with horror.

“V-Vhat is zee meaning of zhis?!” He demanded, though his voice was trembling with fear. “You vouldn’t hurt me! You said you’d leave us alone if I did vhat you asked!”

“Ah, ah, ah, Doctor. Not quite.” Anti tsked, clicking his tongue as his head twitched spastically. “You see, I said I wouldn’t hurt your family if you did what I said. And I keep my promises, Doctor. No harm will come to your precious wife and kids, I assure you.” He said even though the doctor could clearly hear the smirk in his voice, like he was trying not to burst out laughing.

Henrik shook his head. “N-No…No, no, please. Please don’t kill me!”

The glitch threw back his head and released the most fear-inducing maniacal laugh the German had ever heard, causing Henrik to tense up all over and flinch back.

“Kill you? Oh no, no, no, Doctor, why would I want to kill you? After everything you’ve done for me, you do not deserve death; you’ve proven to be rather useful.” The demon admitted. “That is why I feel the need to give you something in return. You helped me, now it only seems fitting I help you.”

Henrik quivered violently, his heart pummelling away at his ribcage; nerve-racking fear surging through his veins. His pupils were dilated, the horror glistening brightly in his eyes.

“V-Vhat?...H-Help me?” He gulped, hesitant to ask. ��H-How? V-Vith vhat?”

A dark chuckle could be heard from deep in the slashed throat of the glitchy entity as he reached over to grab something. Anti looked down upon him, his eyes glowing a luminous green.

“Now now, Doctor, don’t play games with me. You and I both know what the problem is here.” He suddenly held an orbitoclast – the ice pick-like instrument used for lobotomies – right over the man’s right eye socket. He cocked his head, sadistic glee gleaming in the demon’s eyes. “You need a bit of fixing.”

Henrik could’ve sworn his heart had stopped beating for a couple of seconds at the realization of what was going to be done to him. This all seemed far too familiar to him all of a sudden. And with a blink of his eyes, a flashback to October 29th struck him – when he had been operating on Jack – or Anti, as he recently discovered – he had had multiple hallucinations, one of which had been so incredibly vivid and horrific that he had had nightmares for two weeks afterwards. Returning to reality, the poor doctor stared up at the sinister demon pretending to play doctor; fear taking a hold of him. He shook his head violently, now beginning to writhe upon the gore-stained table he was bound to.

“No. No, no, no, NO! NO! PLEASE! Please don’t!” He cried out, tears blurring his vision before falling free. “Please, don’t do zhis! I vant to see my family, zhat’s all I vant! Please!” He tugged away the bonds restraining him, not at all caring how they were digging into his skin. “Please, let me go!”

Blinding white pain erupted in the back of his head as Anti grabbed hold of his hair and slammed his head down on the table, momentarily putting an end to his pleas and struggles. Henrik’s vision was a distorted blurry mess as he tried to look up at the monster, watching as the pick was moved into position over his eye; Anti raising a small hammer over top of it.

“P…P-Plea…ssse..”

Though it couldn’t be seen due to his mask in the way, a terrifying toothy grin stretched across the expanse of the glitchy entity’s face.

“Now,” With a blink of his eyes, they flickered to their natural abyssal black; boring into the German’s soul, “let’s get inside that brain of yours’.”

Letting lose a laugh that would only belong to a deranged psychopath, Anti brought down the hammer. And all throughout the operating room, all throughout the hall leading out off into the deepest darkest parts of the void, a weakened Irishman heard the shrillest ear-piercing, bloodcurdling scream he had ever heard. With anguish tugging viciously at his heart, he too cried out into the darkness.

“ANTI!”

Part 8 - Ze Good Doctah

Part 10 - Always Watching

Author's Note: About this chapter being crucial - it was already somewhat stated in the chapter how Anti was feeling towards the community, how through his eyes, we don't love him and we view him as anything else but a son. It's also stated in the chapter that he wanted to get the part of him that makes him our creation removed from his body so he's no longer under our control.

What I wanted to do with this chapter was show just how unhinged and damaged Anti truly is because of us. This chapter is his breaking point, this is what happened after "Kill Jack" and how he's no longer going to try and get us to love him, he's going to use fear. But first, he needed to get rid of the strings that connected him to us. In "Kill Jack", he said there were no strings on him, and in the story, I feel he said that more as something to scare us and make us change our ways. But given how we didn't change, if anything we made matters worse, he realized this and saw that he had to now go to drastic measures. We've gotten him to hate us so much that he got his body mutilated just so he couldn't be connected to us anymore. We drove our son into doing something that horrific and it's incredibly disturbing. That's what my goal was with this chapter - really show how far we've pushed Anti.

@gridhorizon @fear-is-nameless @jse-fandom-protection-squad @septic-obsessed @darkcurious @butterlover328 @steffid101 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @n-o-ra-xi @haveaverynicetime @golden-eyed-guardians @nightmarewolf133 @maybekatie @jack-a-yote @lil-gib @aeoix @lemonofweirdness @randomcrystals

#this chapter killed me X_X #the research was no fun #but fuuuck I have a twisted imagination #I don't know what to even say about this chapter #told you it was a ride #glitched #antisepticeye #anti #jacksepticeye #antisepticeye fanfiction #anti fanfiction #jacksepticeye fanfiction #antisepticeye fanfic #anti fanfic #jacksepticeye fanfic

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